


Cowboy Jones: Center of the Universe

by AdamantEve



Series: Cowboy Jones [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Space, Bounty Hunters, F/M, Inspired by Firefly, Science Fiction, Space Cowboys - Freeform, bounty hunter jughead, inspired by cowboy bebop, mechanic betty, mention of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-07-24 15:13:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 49,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16177694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantEve/pseuds/AdamantEve
Summary: Her chuckle cut through his reverie. “Why are you looking at me like that?”“Like what?” His mild response bellied his avalanche of thoughts.“I don’t know…” Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “Like I’ve done something.”“Good or bad?”She stopped in front of the galley doors. “Good.”The situation, of course, was that he was getting ahead of himself, and he had to remember that all this was still just a fantasy he had conjured after perhaps watching Little Miss Sunshine one-too many times.“It’s almost always good with you,” he replied.





	1. The Family

Space had never felt so much like home.

The expanse of the galaxy, dotted by stars, planets, aimless rocks, nebulous gases, and the occasional black hole was often startling in its beauty, but it was vast and from the window of an old ship, empty.

Though he’d been to countless worlds, met hundreds and seen thousands of sentient species _not_ of the homosapien variety, they existed in tiny pockets. One or two inhabitable planets in a star system of dozens, maybe hundreds.

Most of space, most planets, contained little to no life—if any, it was microbial, existing beneath miles of ancient ice. Entire star systems, filled with planets made of cooled volcanic rock, eroded wastelands, and salty flats could be completely bereft of living things.

Oddly enough, some of the most hostile planetary surfaces supported the most fantastical creatures, existing stubbornly between the vast cracks of active volcanoes, swimming in dark, freezing waters, wading through thick, poisonous gases, and thriving in temperatures that would freeze hell ten times over.

But these beasts were mindless and primal, arguably blueprints to evolution, and even if every single one of them developed the ability to perceive, reason, and think, space would still be 99% bereft of consciousness—it was that vast.

So for a long time, Jughead felt the enormity of that emptiness, even knowing that his father was in the galley, cooking something passably good, or hearing his sister caterwaul a song as she tapped away at her laptop in some hallway, Hotdog howling after her.

He felt infinitely and impossibly small. He felt cold.

Things were good enough, sure—perhaps better than he ever had. He lived with his family, had a job, shared experiences with people he cared for, but it was never quite as exciting as one would expect living the cowboy life.

So when Betty walked into his life, the uptick in his pulse could have been an anomaly, or maybe the opposite of that—perhaps it was normal that a change in routine felt like there was a shift in the air’s temperature. Maybe having a different voice piping through the quiet hum of the ship altered the tone of things just a little. It was even possible that having someone new to the table made their meals more flavorful—spicier, even.

When a couple of months later, he still felt the vibrations in his chest when she was near, he realized he couldn’t chalk her up to a novelty.

He was drawn to her in all the ways space had been romanticized to him before. Her brain was constantly alive, exploding with ideas, cranking solution after solution, and running with inspiration. Her emotions were always clear on her face—mirth, anger, curiosity, and desire.

His father had told him no, and he got that. He understood why it was probably less complicated to keep it all very professional, but how was he expected to look away when her eyes stared back at him when she spoke, when her fingers wrote incredible computations in her notebook, when her hands held _actual_ books in lieu of an electronic reader, when she licked her thumb cooking in the kitchen, and when she cranked her tools wearing those incredible shorts and perfectly fitted shirts?

Like, how?

It turns out that Betty had already decided he wasn’t supposed to figure it out. All he had needed was her permission, and when she gave it, it was like the cracks in the dam splintered completely, obliterated by the tide of his desire for her.

Since then space felt alive. A living, breathing, heaving entity of stories, adventures, and possibilities. The emptiness was filling. The expanse was their playground and it was there for them to traverse.

They were good for each other, him and Betty, a few hiccups notwithstanding. Like when he tried to take control of her safety, or when she got a little _too_ reckless on a mission (he had been screaming furious, even as he fished the bullet out of her kevlar). But they had worked those things out--so well that both times they made up, he felt they were stronger for it.

Being in a committed relationship with Betty felt like home.

When they weren’t on missions or working on her engine, they were sitting on both ends of the common room couch, feet tangled, and reading in companionable silence. That same couch was new, something they bought together in an actual brick and mortar.

Baking cookies? They did that, too. And when the opportunity arose, he took her out to dinner, just the two of them. They went to more fairs, dragging along the Jones family unit to stuff their faces with battered and fried things, stare at carnival curiosities, go on roller coasters (still surprisingly exciting given that they’d maneuvered through asteroid belts), and played the oddest games to win the strangest prizes.

Grocery shopping felt intimate, and doing laundry was a time to talk. Things that were supposed to be ordinary, even boring, was suddenly important time spent with her.

And then there was the sex. Hot and torrid, slow and prolonged, elaborate or simple, kinky or vanilla, it was always incredible. It was in those moments, when their bodies were fused together, that their most unfiltered thoughts passed between them. Profanities and desperate cries for more, often full sentences of red hot desire, but sometimes, there were messages—honest professions of love and painted pictures of their future.

Would he ever forget when she told him to fill her? Make her his? He would never forget that, even if they never talked about it again after she told him, in the wee hours, that she had to make a run for The Pill. She left before he could tell her he wanted to go with her. He had been too sleepy to insist.

Did she hear him, when in the heat of her ecstasy, he told her he could watch her this way forever? Did she realize what that meant?

Did it fill her with fear and trepidation? Or did she want it, like he did? Did it keep her awake some nights, like it did him, watching her in her sleep until it lulled him happily into his own dreams?

What was her picture of them in the future like?

Those thoughts and moments have gotten frequent, and he was thinking.

Thinking real hard.

And he wondered if she was thinking it, too.

 

*****************

 

They usually never ran out of things to talk about. They talked about books, culture, pop culture, film, current events, work—they even talked about themselves, how her mother drove her crazy, how his mother didn’t care, their pasts, their present, their fears, they sometimes even talked about their future. But _carefully._ So carefully.

A gentle tease here, a tiny hint there.

He didn’t know what they were so careful for.

Maybe it was the awkward reality of their lifestyles, living on a ship that moved from star system to star system, with his father and his sister. Or maybe there were things in the future that were still uncertain for her. She was younger by a couple of years and was still only just beginning to explore the stars, unlike him, who joined the Def Cor at 17 and traveled the galaxy as soon as he could fly a craft at 21. He stayed in service until he was 26, and he’d been flying with his father since. He wasn’t by any means ready to retire, but he liked this path he was on and was set on it. Perhaps Betty was still figuring it out.

He didn’t know and he wasn’t ready to force it.

He loved her and she loved him back with equal ferocity. There was nothing about their relationship that needed to be rushed, no timebombs or expiration dates.

They were happy the way they were.

 

*****************

 

She was fidgeting, like she had something she wanted to say to him, but each time she tried, she would change her mind.

It preoccupied her, whatever her thoughts were, and she only half paid attention to everything else.

When he tried asking her if she had something on her mind, she opened her mouth then immediately clamped it shut.

“You know you can tell me anything,” he said, gently. “I promise I won’t judge.”

Her cheeks blossomed red, sheepish. “It’s nothing like that.” She paused as her brows creased, as if coming to a sudden realization. “Or maybe it is.”

“Hey.” His hands were sliding up and down her arms. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The last thing he wanted to do was force her into telling him something she wasn’t ready to share yet, but he hoped she would tell him, if only to ease her of whatever conflict she was having.

Her smile was burdened with exasperation. “I should tell you, but I need to decide this on my own first.”

He couldn’t help but give her a moment’s look, just to make sure that whatever she was dealing with wasn’t actually overwhelming her.

He knew she’d been seeing a therapist for her nightmares, which had decreased in frequency, but Betty did also like that she had someone to talk to about how she still felt--the crushing weight of expectation from the many people she left behind on Earth. She told him she had found the therapist’s advice and suggested coping mechanisms valuable in that regard.

Probably noticing his concern, she ran her own hands up along his middle. “I’m good, Jug. I promise.”

“Okay.” He let it drop, kissing the top of her head. They both had things to do, anyway. It would be a good time to leave her with her thoughts.

It wasn’t until dinner time, when FP had asked him to fetch Betty from the engine room, that he managed to throw himself into a vortex of thought on his own.

As he walked through the engine room doors, he caught sight of her computer screen.

Baby things. She was looking at baby things.

She shut her browser quick and Jughead found himself completely frozen to his spot.

What the hell was she doing searching for baby merchandise?

She must have thought he hadn’t seen, because she casually smiled at him over her shoulder and asked, “Is it dinner time already? Great! I’m starved!”

His sudden inability to speak had him nodding wordlessly, eyeing her intently for any indication at all that she would _tell him_ what the hell was going on.

She breezed past him and he followed her with his gaze, his maelstrom of unspoken questions paralyzing his tongue.

Had there been a time he had forgotten to wear a condom? Or worse, did one break and they didn’t know it? Well, there had been that _one time_ , but that was when she had gone off and bought The Pill to take. Did it not work?

Was she pregnant? Was she thinking about whether she wanted it or not?

That was absolutely her right, of course. But what if she chose to keep it? Was he ready to be a father? Would she stay on the ship to raise it or would she go back to Earth? He’d like to stay with her—with _them,_ but would she let him? If she stayed on the ship, they wouldn’t be the first parents to raise kids in space. It was an actual thing, and so long as a ship was registered with the Alliance, you were allowed to let your child attend via virtual education, so long as parents complied with the facility requirements: “You must provide a conducive learning space for your child, with a desk, learning materials, and a wide enough area that your child can interface directly with his or her teacher’s hologram and engage with the electronic class board.”

He knew this because at some point, in a fit of boredom, he had checked.

_Boredom._

So he’d given the idea more thought that he was willing to let on. He’d imagined that sweet little girl running circles through the ship, blonde pigtails, blue eyes, a smile like her mother’s and a scowl like her father’s. She would either have a sweetheart name like Rose or Lily, or a literary one like Felicity or Agatha.

He had imagined that little girl crawling into bed with her parents at night, had thought about that same little girl sitting on her grandfather’s lap and getting everything she wanted, or running to her aunt when she craved an adventure that would probably land her in trouble if she went to her mom about it first.

This hadn’t been a passing thought.

Her chuckle cut through his reverie. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” His mild response bellied his avalanche of thoughts.

“I don’t know…” Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “Like I’ve done something.”

“Good or bad?”

She stopped in front of the galley doors. “Good.”

The situation, of course, was that he was getting ahead of himself, and he had to remember that all this was still just a fantasy he had conjured after perhaps watching _Little Miss Sunshine_ one-too many times.

“It’s almost always good with you,” he replied, hooking his fingers around the waist of her cargo pants and gently pulling her closer.

She fell lightly against his body. “It was just—it was a little intense this time, that’s all.”

“Was it? I’m just in a mood, I guess.”

She pecked a kiss on his lips before turning to walk towards the galley doors. They slid open automatically to let her through.

Hotdog wove between their legs to greet them, his tail slapping against their knees. They joined Jellybean at the table just as FP was putting down a bowl of pasta with a basic meaty sauce.

For once, FP did most of the talking. Jellybean was never one to carry a conversation to begin with, and it seemed that Betty was still in the throes of whatever decision she was trying to make.

Jughead was shoving food into his mouth purely by rote. FP could’ve been feeding him swamp water and he might not have noticed.

It seemed that when everyone managed to shut up all at once, FP had plenty to chatter about.

At the end of dinner, FP offered dessert, but Betty ignored his question and said, “I have an announcement to make.”

That caught Jughead completely off guard. She was going to tell all of them at once?

FP’s eyebrow arched. “This ought to be interesting.”

Betty took a deep breath. “My sister gave birth to twins this morning.” She shrugged. “I’m an aunt.”

Jughead’s jaw dropped. He didn’t know what he was feeling.

FP’s face broke into a wide smile. “Hey! Congratulations, kiddo! Wow! C’mere!”

She did and FP enfolded her in a fatherly embrace, which in normal circumstances, always made Jughead’s heart do joyful flips, but this time he was too busy wrestling with an unexpected beast: disappointment.

And he was losing. Had he not spied Jellybean’s suspicious look, he would have gone down with it completely. He kicked himself back into gear. The last thing he wanted was for Jellybean to call him out.

“That’s awesome, Betty!” he cried, slightly forced, but passably sincere. He got up and embraced her.

As she sank into his arms, her warmth was immediately comforting.

“Congratulations,” he said in her ear.

“Thanks, babe.”

When he looked up, he met Jellybean’s penetrating gaze with his glare.

Jellybean glared back but didn't call him out on it. “Omigod, Betty, twins? That run in your family?” 

Betty shrugged. “Kinda.”

“That’s just delightful,” FP said, hands to his hips. “Ain’t that just delightful, son?”

He couldn’t believe his father was asking him this out loud.

“So, two boys? Girls?” Jughead asked to avert any awkwardness.

She smiled, pulling up her tag. “A boy and a girl. V sent me pictures!”

She threw her screen up in the air and enlarged it for everyone to see.

Polly looked so much like Betty that Jughead felt that rock thunk in his belly painfully.

With two tiny bundles in her arms, Polly smiled at the camera.

“What are their names?” Jughead asked.

“Juniper and Dagwood.”

Jellybean made a face. “Yikes.”

FP shot his daughter a stern glare. _“Forsythia.”_

“Touche.”

Betty punctuated her soft laugh with a nod. “I’m calling them June and Woody. My sister… is a little kooky. Possibly in a cult right now, but she’s sweet, and the mother of my niece and nephew. Aren’t they precious?”

“Adorable. Your sister’s in a _cult?”_

Jughead threw Jellybean a warning glance as he said, “They’re beautiful, Betts.”

Betty rewarded him with a grateful smile. “They are. And yes, JB. I think she’s in a cult, hopefully a harmless one, otherwise I will storm that farm and save my niece and nephew.”

Jellybean groaned. “Oh, God, a _farm._ Honestly, I’ll either love her or hate her.”

Betty didn’t appear to persuade Jellybean either way.

“So, when were you thinking of seeing them?” FP asked.

Jughead looked at Betty expectantly and was surprised to see some of her enthusiasm wane.

Even FP noticed. “Or not…?”

“Oh, I do want to see them!” Betty interjected, wide eyed. “I do, but when are we next flying by the 1st Quad?”

FP gave her an incredulous look, as if surprised that she was even asking. “When you want us to, kid!”

Her brows creased. “But that’s a two-week trip from here, then we have to stick around for at least another week. That’s too much time just for—“

“That’s your sister,” FP said, firmly. “Your family, Betty. You have to make time for them, yes?”

“Yes, but we can’t go three weeks without a job.”

Jughead gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “Betts, we’ll be fine. The moment we get to Earth and suppliers there find out we fly as far out to the 4th Quad, we’ll book an insane amount of cargo to carry back and deliver. That’ll cover us for the three weeks we’re not bounty hunting. Besides, we’ll probably be able to bag a couple of easy bounties there, too.”

She looked up at him over her shoulder and he could see the tension around her eyes, but as soon as he saw it, she smoothed it away and said, “Okay. If it’s not any trouble, okay.”

FP smiled and clapped his hands. “Great! I’ve been waiting for an excuse to head back to the 1st, anyway. All that upstate New York highway is great for riding and I miss it. We can head out tomorrow for Earth, first thing.”

With that settled, FP went back to putting dessert together, and while FP was distracted assembling the homemade brownies and canned whipped cream, Jughead let his gaze fall on Betty.

The smile on her face didn’t quite reach her eyes, so he knew something was wrong. He’d seen her happy. She should have been glowing. There was a mask over her glow.

Jughead rubbed the back of her neck and she leaned into it. Some of the tension melted from her shoulders.

“I’d like to go to a beach when we get back to earth,” Jellybean said. “Get a tan, maybe.”

“Sounds like a plan, JB,” Betty replied.

*****************

He traced the thin sheen of sweat on her bare back with his finger, a grin of accomplishment on his lips.

Lying on her chest, she cast him a lazy smile. “Don’t look so smug.”

“I can’t help it,” he whispered. “I did this to you. It’s sexy as hell.”

She hummed, adjusting so that she can trace the lines of his chest with her fingers. “Can’t argue with that. You know what I like.”

He did. He knew her body and he knew her mind, too. At least the parts she’d made him see. There was a universe in that head and he loved to explore it. He could spend a lifetime on it and perhaps never know everything, but what he knew, he would care for. What she let him see he would cherish.

“Why did it take you an entire day to decide to tell us about Polly?” he asked. His tone was soft, not demanding.

She sighed, but there was no stiffening of shoulders, and her fingers continued the lazy circling on his chest. “Because I knew that if I told you all, you’d expect me to go back to Earth, and as much as I want to see my niece and nephew, I don’t know if I want to deal with everything else that comes with it.”

He massaged her arm with gentle pressure. “You mean your mother?”

“She’s part of it. A big part of it. But there’s so much more, Juggie.” She blinked languorously. “On Earth I’m—I’m not as anonymous as I’d want to be, and it got worse when Archie’s sex video came out. I’m hoping I’m old news, but I won’t bet on it.”

He didn’t exactly follow celebrity news on Earth at any level. He may have, at some point, inadvertently read a headline on a gossip magazine while waiting in line at a grocery store, but he had zero interest in the lives of beautiful strangers.

He had been surrounded by people who talked about it—at school, in the Def Cor, even out in space, but when he sensed celebrity gossip filtering into conversation, he would completely zone out, like the mix of such talk with his brain cells created a cognitive fog.

He never understood the appeal, not even when illicit videos were involved. That Betty would ever be embroiled in that perceived lifestyle was beyond his imagination.

She was the engineer bent on both saving the universe and keeping the Wyrm in perfect condition, the third gun in their unit, the explosives expert in their team. She was his lover and the beautiful woman lying naked in bed beside him, she was his life, his inspiration, his dream.

That she was telling him that there was a world out there that saw her as nothing more than a headline for the amusement of the masses did not compute. He was ignorant of that.

“We’ll be in and out of there before you know it, Betts. Whatever happens, we’ll always have the Wyrm to take us away.”

She chuckled. “Sounds romantic, I think?”

He smirked, realizing how that had sounded. “Well, I was going for a more practical approach, but if romance is what you’re looking for, I can swoop in and carry you back to the Wyrm on a horse.”

The giggle that tinkled from her lips was what he was aiming for. But as her smile faded and her eyes lowered, he knew she was seriously worried about going back to Earth.

“It’s not even just that,” she continued. “There’s so much more. My family—my life over there—it’s a galaxy apart from this, literally and figuratively. What I left behind… it’s not what I want anymore and I don’t want to drag you into it, even for the briefest moment. I just worry at how overwhelming it can get for us both. For me.”

He sighed and wrapped himself around her, hoping his warmth can soothe her worries. She curled up in his embrace, kissing the skin of his shoulder and giving a contented sigh. “Are you saying that you and I aren’t strong enough to weather that storm? You survived Peitho, I served in the space force, we kicked butt in Chenondoa and fought our way out of the swamplands of Thyrdin, and you think Earth can defeat us? We’re badasses, Cooper. They should be worried about _us.”_

She laughed softly. “I suppose you’re right. I should be able to manage a week, at any rate. Worse comes to worse, I’ll hide out in the Wyrm when I’m not spending time with June and Woody.”

He smirked. “Or we can hang out at the Met, like we always wanted, then go downtown for some dinner.”

She sighed. “I’d love to do that with you, and I’d really like to run outside along the West Side Highway, then head on over to the West Village for some leisurely shopping for mostly useless things, and maybe get some cheese.”

“See? It can’t be that bad.  We’ll make the most of it.”

He was looking forward to it already.

 

***************

 

She’d been fine the last couple of weeks, hurtling through space towards Earth.  They’d been traveling through the wormholes and making stops in between to break from the tedium.  At each stop, their comm lines fell open and Betty would use the time to contact Veronica, who was valiantly keeping her return a secret from everyone else.

“Kevin will kill us both, you know,” Veronica had said, forebodingly. “In our sleep.”

“Who’s Kevin?” Jughead asked, looking up briefly from his book. He was trying to settle down for bed, but Betty, whom he noticed was getting increasingly agitated the closer they got to Earth, decided that she would comm Veronica in the dead of night.  Knowing that it would be impossible for him to sleep while the two women were chattering, Jughead decided to read a book. He found that it was impossible to concentrate on it as well.

For one, Betty was stomach down on the bed, ankles crossed and legs bent at the knee. With her back turned to Jughead, he had a perfect view of her ass in fitted sleep shorts.

Secondly, there were all these unfamiliar names they were mentioning that had Jughead endlessly curious. Josie, Valerie, Moose, Reggie, and now Kevin. He could only pretend not to listen for so long.

“Good friend of ours,” Veronica said, hearing his question. “Also grew up with Betty. Sous chef at my restaurant. And don’t worry, Romeo. He’s gay.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Jughead muttered. And he hadn’t been, but now that Veronica mentioned it, maybe he should be thinking about all the other boys that might have gotten left behind.

“Juggie has nothing to worry about with me,” Betty said, grinning over her shoulder and nudging his shoulder with her toe.  

He smacked her ass lightly and smooth his hand over it. “You are an angel, so I trust you. It’s the devil inside those boys I don’t trust.”

“Are you touching her butt? Don’t touch her butt. Like, can’t you wait until Betty and I are done talking?”

Betty giggled when his fingers lightly grazed the skin beneath her shorts. “Seriously, Jug. Heel.”

He did, going back to his book but knowing he wasn’t going to understand a single word on it.

“Archie’s been asking me about you but I think he only does it so that he could get me to tell you stuff about him and what he’s been up to.”

“What _has_ he been up to?” Betty asked.

Jughead made a sound of quiet disdain. He was ignored.

“Music,” Veronica replied. “He’s been playing the guitar a lot and composing songs.”

 _“Archie_ is composing songs?”

Veronica nodded. “And they aren’t bad. Combined with his puppy dog eyes and those perfect abs, that sensitive white guy with a guitar vibe he exudes during performances is getting him tons of pussy. Like, seriously, _tons._ I’ll be surprised if his dick doesn’t fall off with herpes or gonorrhea by next month.”

“Jesus, V. At least pretend we don’t talk this way when Jughead’s around.”

“No, by all means. Tell me all about Archie’s dick falling off.”

Betty shot him a half scolding smile over her shoulder.  “So Archie’s actually a musician. Who knew?”

“I know. Weird, right?  And naturally all his songs are about this girl that broke his heart.”

Betty groaned. “Great.”

“Then there’s that revenge song of his where he finally finds another girl that treats him better. Not to mention the part where he finds his ex in a crackhouse.”

“Wow.”

“Do I have to punch him in the face again?” Jughead asked.

“Please don’t,” Betty said. “Let’s just ignore him. And if his writing songs about me being in a crackhouse helps him sleep at night, then so be it.”

Veronica scoffed. “I’d let Jughead do it, if I were you.”

“Ready when you are, boss.”

Betty slapped his leg with the back of her hand. “Seriously, _don’t._ Back on Earth, he’s got a ton of lawyers who’ll jump at the chance to tell him to sue you.”

Jughead frowned. “He didn’t sue the last time.”

“Well, he had a couple of weeks between you punching him in the face and getting back to Earth. His nose was probably partially healed by the time he got back home, too.”

Veronica giggled. “Honestly, it still looked pretty bad when he got here. The gossip magazines were buzzing about it, speculating like crazy, and of course there were many magazines that tried to tie it back to you. Some said he may have gotten mugged. Some said he fell. At any rate, nobody could get the real story out of him because he refused to say. I bet that if Jughead did it again, he isn’t going to advertise it, either.”

Jughead actually found himself smirking. He cracked his knuckles for comedic effect. “Well, if he’s too macho to sue…”

“Can you stop being such an enabler for one second?” Betty half-yelled at Veronica.

“It’s possible that he might be too busy to make an appearance. He’s gearing up to tour with the Pussycats. He’s their opening act.”

Betty made a sound. “I was hoping to see Josie. I haven’t in ages. Do you think she’ll have time?”

Jughead’s eyebrow arched. He had heard her mention Josie, but he didn’t exactly assume that the Josie she was talking about was the Josie McCoy of the Pussycats. They were famous enough that even _he_ knew who they were.  “You’re friends with the Pussycats?”

“Totally!” Veronica chirped. “We were tight with Josie in highschool and Betty had a sexy, fort night’s fling with Valerie Brown’s brother, Trev.”

“Veronica!”

The name actually gave Jughead pause. “Trev Brown. Why is that name familiar?”

Veronica made a sound. “Because he plays running back for Gaea Gestalt in the Galactic Football League. He’s a fucking super star.”

It was at that point that Jughead began to realize just what Betty meant by not being as anonymous on Earth as she’d like to be. He supposed he should’ve cottoned on when Betty revealed the sex video scandal. A video wouldn’t be a scandal if a couple of nobodies were on it. And he should’ve known, perhaps, when Veronica kept jetting off at Pop’s to exchange cheek kisses with Prime Ministers and Emperors.

Then again, Betty never liked talking about her life on Earth. She confined all talk about it to her immediate family and Veronica. And in all honesty, he didn’t think she was being cagey. He knew that she just didn’t think it was all that important.

Now he’s finding out that Betty had been with Trev Brown, and that unlike Archie, Veronica approved of Trev.

“That was a couple of years ago, Juggie,” Betty told him, giving his knee a rub.

Veronica’s eyes widened, as if realizing what she’d just said. “Oh, totally! Old news, Jughead. Nothing you should be concerned about!”

Betty’s ponytail whipped, and whatever look Betty must have given Veronica had her loquacious best friend clamping her lips shut.

“I’m not concerned,” Jughead muttered, annoyed that he actually was. It wasn’t that Betty would leave him for this famous GFL player. That was ridiculous, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t comparing the life he had to offer Betty to what Trev Brown could.

Trev Brown must make a _shit ton_ of money. The guy had to be getting a mothership every month in income. His face had even penetrated in some places of the 3rd Quadrant with his endorsements. It was a little intimidating.

And if the only bad thing Betty could say about Trev was that he was “a couple of years ago,” then he was probably at least a nice guy.

“Listen, V, I’ll talk to you soon, okay? We’ll arrive on Earth in a couple of days. I’ll let you know once we’ve broken through the atmosphere.”

“I’m so excited, B! Can’t wait. Love you!”

“Love you, too.”

Veronica blinked out and Betty shut her comm, setting it aside and sliding it under the bed.

When Betty crawled up to him on all fours, he put his book away and grinned expectantly.

“Is this the part where you try to reassure me with hot, crazy sex?”

She nodded wordlessly, sliding up his body.

He bit his lip as she straddled his hips and slipped her arms over his shoulders. His fingers slid along the waist of her shorts. “I’m feeling _real_ insecure, baby. You might have to work really hard to make me feel better about myself.”

“Well,” she whispered, grinding her hips on his stiffening cock. “Then I’m going to have to fuck your brains out, Jughead Jones.”

“That might work.”

 

*******************

 

They landed on the Flushing Meadows-Corona Space Port in Queens, New York, site of the once ambitious World’s Fair of yore, when the Earth was the only inhabited planet people knew about and the concept of warp propulsion was nothing but the product of a crazy man’s imaginings.

Now it was one of the busiest gateways of the planet, letting thousands of ships pass through and dock. It was attached to a central train station, where travelers came and went, and all around the space port were thousands of hotels, offering rooms and extended stay quarters for humans and aliens coming to Earth for business.

It was a thriving hub, and as Betty stared out of the Wyrm’s windshield, seeing the city she grew up in along the horizon, she felt her stomach buzzing with nerves.

Jughead lowered the ship gently onto its assigned docking station and it touched down with a muted settling of metal against concrete.  The ship hissed as it settled, and all around Betty, the sound of unbuckling belts did nothing to ease her anxiety.

When she felt Jughead’s hand on her shoulder, she covered it with her own.  

“It’s going to be alright, Betty,” he said, reassuringly.

Sighing, she nodded and got up.

She was already dressed to step out and go straight to Polly and she tried to push back the thoughts that were rattling her.  She knew that she would seem a little underdressed, with her simple green sundress, french-braided hair, and strappy high heels, but she didn’t want to shock her sister walking in there in a tank top, cargo pants, and combat boots.  

Everyone there would probably be dressed in some form of tailored Chanel or Burberry. Her own sundress was a classic Lilly Pulitzer, but given that she hadn’t been back on Earth in almost a year, it was probably considered horrendously out of style.

_Stop it._

She pressed her lips together. She had to stop letting her insecurities drag her back into the frivolities of her previous lifestyle. She was a new woman. A stronger woman. She didn’t need to rely on signature clothing and designer handbags for her self-worth. She didn’t need to fear the barbed words of her mother, gossip magazines, or social and business rivals that might very well circle her like sharks as soon as word of her arrival got out.

None of that mattered. None, because everything that mattered to her now was at Polly’s penthouse and this ship.  

“Do you want me to drive you in the Chopper or should we just take a Dryft?” Jughead asked her as they walked down the hall.

She looked at him pleadingly. “The Chopper. I’d feel much calmer with something familiar.”

The corner of his lip lifted in sympathy. “Okay.”

The overhead speaker dinged with an insistent beep and Betty looked up in surprise. She had never heard the ship make that sound before.

“What--?”

Jughead looked a little surprised, himself.  “Huh. That’s--”

“The doorbell,” FP said, walking past them.  “Someone is at the door.”

Betty looked at Jughead questioningly. He just shrugged and followed his father, Jellybean and Hotdog right behind him.  

They walked across the common room to get to the passageway leading to the gangplank.  As they neared the entrance, Betty’s feelings of dread increased. She had the worst feeling building in the pit of her stomach.  

When they got to the doors, FP punched in the four-digit code and the doors slowly slid open.

The whirring sound of gears did nothing to steady Betty’s nerves, and when the shadow through the crack began to gain brightness, her heart sank to her toes.  

There, standing at the threshold of the Whyte Wyrm, was Alice Cooper.

 

****************

“Hello, Elizabeth.”

Alice Cooper’s viper green eyes were as sharp and unforgiving as ever. It might have just been her flawless makeup, or the perfectly groomed eyebrows, but they pierced holes into Betty’s very soul.  

Alice’s big blonde hair was salon engineered, framing her beautiful face, and it fell in shiny cascades down her shoulders. The dress she wore was a two-piece set, colored in a feminine baby blue, with a wide collar, scalloped shoulder sleeves and a tailored waist. Her skirt was form-fitting, in the same color, cutting off just below her knees. Her designer high-heeled shoes matched the ultra-expensive Hermes Birkin bag slung over her arm.

Alice was cradling a bouquet of flowers, and Betty wondered if they were riddled with thorns, and if her mother was going to use them to flagellate her later.

Betty took a deep breath to steady her voice. “Mom.”

Alice swung her gaze to FP. “Forsythe.”

FP’s smile was wrought with tension. “Alice. Didn’t expect you here. You look--” he paused. “Fucking fantastic.”

Betty could hear Jughead’s exasperated sigh.

“Are these your progeny?” Alice asked, her gaze transferring to Jughead, Jellybean, and Hotdog.

Betty’s jaw hardened. Progeny, indeed. She stepped to Jellybean’s side. “These are Jughead and Jellybean. And this little fella over here is Hotdog.”

Hotdog did not seem enthusiastic to meet Alice.

Jughead, however, did extend his hand for a shake, which Alice took while giving him the once-over.  

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” said Jughead, his shoulders taking on a distinctly square lift.

Alice’s eyebrow raised sharply. “Military?”

“ES Def Cor.”

There was no warmth in Alice’s eyes. “You are the splitting image of your father--minus the drunken swagger--”

_“Mother!”_

FP wagged a finger at Alice and gave a sardonic laugh.  “Oh, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

Even the chuckle that Alice gave him was razor sharp. “You better believe it, Jones.”

“Do you shoot poison out of your eyes?” Jellybean asked, her expression wide with wonder.

“Not now, JB,” Jughead muttered, throwing her a daggered look.

Alice swept past them without being welcomed in. “Your children are charming, FP. This is quite the ship you have here.” As she got to the common room, she looked at the furniture. “Nice couch.”

“What are you doing here, mom?” Betty demanded, following right after her.

Alice whipped around to face her. She was taller than Betty in her five-inch heels, but she never did need that extra height to get that psychological edge over her youngest daughter. “Can’t I welcome my dear daughter back to Earth after she’d been gone for so long?”

“Who told you I’d be back today?”

Alice rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Please. I pay attention to Veronica’s shopping habits. She’d been buying size 6 things. She is a size 3. She wasn’t having them shipped, either, and she only ever shops for you and her girlfriend, who is the same size as she is. Ergo, she is buying things for _you_ and therefore, you were probably due in approximately two weeks time since she started her spree. I still had the Wyrm’s ID from last time and I had the scientists at the research facility watch out for your warp signature.”

Her mother was dastardly, but what came out of Betty’s mouth was an unexpected knee-jerk response.

“I am a European size 6, which means I’m an American size 5,” Betty said through grit teeth, much to her dismay. She knew exactly why she had zeroed in on that. She immediately began massaging her forehead. “Jesus Christ, what am I saying? Mother, let’s try this again. What are you doing here?”

Alice sighed, slapping the bouquet of flowers into Betty’s arms. “I came here to offer hospitality to your guests. You’re still a Cooper--”

“Not if we can help it,” Jellybean grumbled.

Jughead draped an arm over Jellybean’s shoulders and visibly squeezed. “Shut your mouth,” he grumbled back.

Alice didn’t, or chose not to, hear her. “And as such, we offer nothing but the best to those under our care. I came here to tell you that I’ve made sure your old apartment is fit to be lived in and that I’ve opened up the guest apartment along Central Park South, where the Jones family can stay.”

“We’re good in the Wyrm,” FP interjected.

“Nonsense,” Alice shot right back. “The Parc Acre apartment has wonderful amenities and comes fully stocked with supplies and food--I made sure to get your favorites, FP.  Betty’s apartment is just a few blocks away, so if you need anything that the building staff can’t possibly get you, Betty will always be nearby to help.”

“That sounds great, but--”

“I’m sure I can make arrangements to keep your whereabouts unknown to Gladys if you stay at the Parc Acre, but if you stay here, I cannot make that promise.”

Betty’s eyes widened. _“Mom!”_

“You’re a piece of work, Alice,” FP said.

She shrugged and dealt FP a sultry glare. “I always get what I want.”

Betty covered her face. “Oh, dear God.”

Jellybean peaked over Jughead’s shoulder. “Whoa.”

Alice threw Hotdog a look of disdain. “I can have a dog-walker come to your apartment for Sausage, if you like. They’ll shampoo and groom him, too. Even this one can look like the prettiest pooch with proper handling.”

Hotdog gave Alice a hostile growl.

“Down, boy!” Jughead hissed.

“Let me know,” Alice said in a silky tone. “I’ll give you all some time to gather your things while I wait in the transport outside. It’s a big vehicle so we should all fit, then I can drop you all off at your respective apartments. You can take your time heading to Polly then--give you a chance to change into something more updated.”

Betty’s fists curled, her nails pressing into her palms.

“Does that sound good to you, Betty?”

Betty stared at Alice, trying her hardest to regroup.  She couldn’t just let her mother come in here and railroad them all into neat little rows, the way she always did. This was such a power move and her mother was so good at it.

Alice knew she couldn’t get her daughter to succumb easily, so she roped FP into it.  Now Betty felt torn. If she refused to budge, so would FP, and he and his family would be subjected to whatever catastrophe Gladys could cook up.

“Mom, please,” she finally said, her voice gentling to a plea. “I’ll stay at my apartment. I’ll even--I’ll even wear the clothes you want me to wear. Just leave FP alone.”

Alice cupped Betty’s face in her hands. “Darling. This is as much about FP as it is about you. He took my daughter away from me. Do you understand? The least he could do is stay in the beautifully appointment apartment I set up for him. Now is that so bad?”

Betty sighed and blinked away her tears. “I guess not.”

A triumphant smile curled the corners of Alice’s lips. She stepped back, straightened her shoulders, and lifted her chin, sweeping her eyes over their faces. “Good. I’ll see you all in a few.”

She spun on the balls of her towering heels and walked back out through the hallway and down the gangplank.

Betty stood in the middle of the common room, shellshocked.

“Your mother is a gangster,” Jellybean said.

Betty opened her mouth to speak but FP beat her to it. “JB, you have no fucking idea.”

 

*******************

 

After her mother dropped her off at her apartment with a stern, “I expect you to be at Polly’s in an hour, Elizabeth. Don’t be late. And you, Forsythe, Jr., lose the gun. You won’t need that around here,” Betty felt like screaming.

As they watched her mother’s transport drive away, Jughead said, “I suppose she’s not wrong about the gun.”

Betty wanted to tell him to keep the gun, to hell with her mom, but she was in no position to tell anyone to gainsay Alice.

She took deep, calming breaths. “I can’t believe I’m letting her do this to me again.” Her fingers were curling again, and the bite of her fingernails against her skin was a reminder that no amount of kicking ass across the galaxy seemed to prepare her for her mother’s psychological warfare.  

She grabbed the gifts they bought for Polly and the babies while trying to catch a hold of her overnight as well, but she felt Jughead’s hand on her arm. She looked up, stifling an impatient retort the moment she saw the look of concern in his eyes.

“I’ll take that for you, Betts.” He took her bag by its handle.

Blowing a breath through her lips, she chastised herself for _almost_ yelling at him. He’d been nothing but calm since Alice walked through the Wyrm doors. He stood steady as Alice made veiled insults, ordered them around, and dropped outrageous statements about space and Betty’s mental health.

It helped her immensely when she saw that the barbs Alice directed at him wasn’t affecting him. It lowered her blood pressure when Betty realized that Jughead’s short “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, ma’am,” answers were beginning to annoy and fluster her mother.

“Are you usually this quiet?” Alice had asked, sharply.

“Only when I’ve got nothing nice to say, ma’am.”

Alice’s nose had flared with outrage, but she said nothing, knowing that she had gotten out-classed in that respect.  

It did occur to Betty that Jughead had taken on the demeanor of a soldier held captive with his crew: Say nothing, keep your crew calm, follow directions, and wait for your chance.  

Jughead was her lifeline and she hadn’t stopped to appreciate him.

Cupping his face in her hand, she kissed him gratefully in the middle of the sidewalk. The rest of their hands were full, laden as they were with bags, but the kiss was slow and unhurried. When they separated, she let him kiss her forehead.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said.

She didn’t know if she believed him just yet, but she let his faith cloak her like a blanket.

Sighing, she nodded and turned to walk through the doors of the apartment building. Jughead followed close behind her with his duffel bag and her things.

“Miss Cooper!” The cheerful greeting cut through her cloud of panic and she turned to see the receptionist.

A familiar looking sweet young lady with a round face and bouncy brown hair welcomed her with a grin. She had been the new receptionist when Betty last left and Betty wracked her brain for the woman’s name.  “S-Selena! Oh, my God, how are you?”

“Good!” Selena replied, no doubt pleased that Betty had remembered her. “Haven’t seen you in months! I was afraid something had happened after--well, you know. Sorry. Never liked him, for what it’s worth. I’m glad to see you’re okay.”

Betty appreciated Selena’s words of support. “Thanks, Selena. I’m doing real good.”

“Wonderful. Can I get a cart for yours and the gentleman’s belongings?” Her eyes quickly scanned Jughead, and Betty immediately noted Selena’s somewhat frozen smile.

Jughead, with his combat boots, tank top, and sherpa, wasn’t exactly the type that graced this lobby. It wasn’t Selena’s fault that she was cautious about Jughead. It was her job to know who came in and out of this building.

“That won’t be necessary,” Betty said, looping her arm around Jughead’s. “This is Jughead Jones, by the way. He is my guest and will be staying with me while I’m here.”

Some of the frost around Selena’s smile thawed and she nodded in his direction. “Nice to meet you Mr. Jones.”

“It’s just Jughead,” he said.

“I’m sure it is, Mr. Jones.  Would you need a key of your own, then?”

“Um--”

“Yes, that would be lovely, Selena,” Betty interjected for him.

“Let me get that for you,” Selena said, punching some keys on her board. “You’re not staying for good, Ms. Cooper?”

“Oh, no. I’m just visiting my sister. Once that’s done, I’m flying back out with Jughead.”

Selena looked completely unbothered, focusing on her work. A device flew from behind the desk, hovering in front of Jughead’s face. He jerked his head back in surprise, but the drone was quick, shooting out a stream of green rays that scanned his face. It hovered back to Selena’s dashboard in seconds.

“Facial recognition security,” Selena explained automatically. “The security cameras will recognize who you are, Mr. Jones, and you should be able to go anywhere in this building’s common areas without delay.”

Betty knew exactly what that meant. If the computers didn’t recognize him, _actual_ security was going to stop and question him. She told herself that they did this to everyone new to the building, that this had nothing to do with what they perceived Jughead to be.

A soft whirr emanated from Selena’s dashboard and she presented Jughead with a card. “Here’s your key, Mr. Jones. You can scan that card on your tag and used your tag on the ID pad, or you can use the card itself on the lock of Ms. Cooper’s door. You should be able to come and go as you please.”

“Thanks,” Jughead replied, still looking slightly uneasy. He pocketed the key card and shuffled on his feet.

Betty thanked the receptionist and begged their leave. “We have to go, Selena, but it was nice to see you again.”

“Likewise! Have a good day!” She waved as Betty led Jughead to the elevators.  

Betty punched the floor number on the wall pad and one of 6 elevator doors along the hallway dinged with her floor number flashing at the top.

Her old apartment sat on the 34th floor and as they ascended the building, Betty noticed Jughead scoping the corners.

She leaned over and said, “Yes, there are likely cameras in here. We _are_ being watched.”

“I hate elevators.”

She rubbed his arm. “I know. The apartment’s nice, though. Bought it myself, so it’s not as lavish as the place FP and Jellybean are staying in, but it’s mine and I like it. Also—“ her smile was one of loving promise, coupled with the warm press of her hand in his. “—you have a key. You can use it whenever you want, whether I’m here in New York or not.”

He regarded her with such unflinching intensity that it sent a shudder through her body. He leaned over to kiss her, perhaps forgetting, or not caring, that there were people watching the cameras and seeing them.

She smiled into the kiss, glad that in spite of the stress her mother had put her through, there was _this,_ the casual handing of keys, which meant so much even in the grand scheme of things.

The apartment itself was relatively small, with a compact kitchen, a living room area, dining area, laundry closet, and a powder room. The bedroom was spacious, however—the one thing Betty had required of her realtor at the time, with floor to ceiling windows, a master bath, and a walk-in closet.

It hadn’t been an unusual ask. Many professionals her age wanted apartments with spacious master bedrooms and baths in lieu of the bigger common areas, and real estate developers answered that demand.

There was also a rather cramped balcony area, just big enough to accommodate two people standing up, and a plant box.

As they entered her apartment, Betty recognized the warm familiarity of coming home. This had been _her_ place.   _Her_ home.  

“Cedonia,” she called out. “Can you open my living room blinds?”

A globe-shaped black drone unlatched itself from a mount on her counter and hovered. “No problem, Betty. It’s been awhile since you last stayed here. Who is your guest?”

Jughead’s eyebrow arched in surprise as the blinds started rising to bathe the apartment in light.

“This is Jughead Jones,” Betty replied, watching Jughead’s wonder in mild amusement. “Activate voice and face recognition for Jughead. You may follow his requests.”

Cedonia hovered by Jughead and scanned his face in a similar fashion as the drone at the lobby. “Nice to meet you, Jughead. Please say something so I can file your audio print in my database.”

“Er--hi, nice to meet you, too, Cedonia.”

A light blipped on Cedonia’s outer shell. “Thank you. Your audio print has been filed. You are authorized to issue requests and I am contractually obligated to comply, unless such request results in harming others or yourself. I am also bound by the laws of the galaxy in accordance with the Treaty of Anahita, which includes, but is not limited to, Section 586, Robotic Governance and Artificial Intelligence. I will protect your privacy at all costs and am forbidden from replicating myself in any manner. Do you understand my duties and limitations?”

“I-I do.”

“Confirmation accepted.”  

Jughead laughed, now clearly delighted.

Cedonia hovered back to Betty. “Is that all you will need from me for now?”

“Yes, Cedonia, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I will be available when you need me.” Cedonia left and went back to her mount on the counter, her green light switching to blue.  

Jughead shook his head, awed. “We need to get one of those on the ship.”

Betty chuckled. “JB will riot.”

“You have a point.” He turned his gaze to the windows. “This view is nice.” He swept his gaze over the tops of smaller buildings and some view of Central Park to the left.

Betty nodded, coming up beside him on the balcony window. “It’s pretty enough. It’s better from the bedroom.”

“I’ll bet.” A small smile lifted the corner of his lip. “The view at night with all those lights.”

She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Space is better.”

He nodded. “Missing your loft already?”

“I do. I was made for space. Maybe that’s why I liked making rockets.”

He put his arms around her and she melted right into it, closing her eyes and taking in the scent of his body, a comforting mix of soap and a hint of his aftershave.

“A week,” he said softly. “It’s just a week.”

It felt too long, already.

 

*****************

 

Betty did not change into something more fashionable.

She decided that if she was going to stand up to her mother, she was going to have to start somewhere, and she was going to kick it off with her clothing choices.

Jughead, on the other hand, opted for the more civilian jeans, plaid, and sweater.

It felt a little strange to her, having him seem like a regular guy on the street. She was used to his military clothing, whether dressed down or mission-ready. And when he took her out to dinner, he always wore a suit, because he only ever took her to those kinds of places, but even then he was usually strapped and ready for action.

Right now, seemingly free of weapons and arguably preppy, he looked like he was ready for artisanal pancakes at the local hipster brunch hangout.

He looked good in it, however, and it was _still_ him. All of the clothing he had on was his, pulled straight from his duffel bag, just thrown together differently.

His jeans fit well, his dark blue plaid was buttoned up, his undershirt was black, and the black sweater he wore over the plaid hung open. When he jammed his beanie over his head, she would swear he grew up in Brooklyn.

“What?” he asked, when he spied her observing him on the mirror.

She shook her head, marvelling at how this outfit made his eyes bluer and his face younger. “Nothing. I was just thinking about how good you look in everything.”

The corner of his lip lifted, coupling it with a wink, and she laughed, devastated by how becoming that smugness was on him.

She slipped her arms around his waist, smiling up at him as she pressed her lips to his. It was only then she felt the empty holster tucked into the small of his back.

She hummed. “Are you seriously going to bring a gun?”

He shrugged, his kiss gaining some heat. “Force of habit. Go ahead and take it off. In fact, take everything off.”

He was moving her backwards, making for the bed, and she giggled softly.

“We don’t have a lot of time—“

“We haven’t done a quickie in a while,” he murmured, his hands sliding down her back and stopping over her ass. He gave both her cheeks a tight squeeze, which made her instantly ready.

“Five minutes, Juggie,” she breathed, feeling the bed against the back of her calves.

His tongue swooping into her mouth left her breathless, and the thought that he couldn’t keep his hands off her long enough to risk Alice’s wrath made her want him even more.

He nudged her gently back and she fell against her bed. Pushing herself up by her elbows, she watched him unbuckle his belt and undo his pants, but he didn’t push his clothing off just yet.

“You’ve been so stressed, baby,” he said, his soothing voice sending waves of longing straight to her center. He knelt between her legs and pushed the skirt of her dress higher up her thighs. “I want to see you come apart.”

She sighed, lifting her knee to rub her high-heeled foot against his shoulder.

He caught an ankle in his grip, letting his lips and tongue worship the inside of her knee. His mouth moved higher up her leg as he made slow circles against her skin.

“Jug, five minutes…”

“Fuck five minutes. I want to enjoy you.”

Her cunt clenched. She could never resist his take-charge attitude. It made her moan, the ache between her legs growing more unbearable by the second.

As his lips moved closer to where she needed him, she pulled his beanie of his glorious hair and tossed it aside. His luscious strands were thick between her fingers and she tugged lightly.

His soft groan reverberated through her body and it was followed by the impatient tug of her panties. He slid her panties off her and she mewled with anticipation.

His tongue swirled into her and she keened in response, arching her back and opening herself wider to him.

“God, Juggie,” she cried, seeing him through the rise and fall of her chest, feeling every pulse of his tongue on her and the sucking of his lips. Her fist tightened around his ebony strands.

His eyes met hers briefly as his mouth pleasured her, but his own eyes closed, like he was savoring this moment himself.

He must love doing this to her. He had to.

For the next fifteen minutes he brought her closer then eased her down, and all she could do was submit to his will. She begged and praised, hoping one or the other would make him finish her off.

He just smiled and toyed with her some more. His fingers joined his tongue, dipping between her tight folds in a steady rhythm.

It sent the waves of pleasure lapping on the edges of her desire into overdrive and whether he wanted to or not, she was going to come. She cried out, frantic in her need to climax and be allowed to.

Jughead let her orgasm, sucking on her clit and pushing her over the edge.

Her loud cries filled the room as she crested the wave, feeling every swoop of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers. He worked her through to completion until her screaming waned and her body went limp.

As she caught her breath, he rose up on the bed, settling his body between her legs while sucked loving kisses along her throat.

“I’ll never get tired of hearing you come like that, baby,” he said in his low, lust-heavy voice.

She swallowed and nodded, gasping for breath as she used her feet, shoes and all, to push off his pants and boxers.

He sprung free. She could feel his hardened dick against her stomach and it made her want him fiercely, as if she hadn’t just orgasmed under his touch. He pressed himself against her warm skin, rubbing tentatively for some friction.

“Do you have a condom?” He asked, rasping his teeth along the shell of her ear.

She whimpered, dying at the thought that they would stop this because she wasn’t sure if the stock she had in her bed stand was still good for use. They hadn’t been touched in over a year, she figured.

“Forget that,” she whispered. “I’ve got the other pill in my bag. I want you.”

He groaned and kissed her deep, like it was the only answer he needed. His hand clamped to the back of her thigh and he slid into her, moving to an instant rhythm.

“Holy fuck, you feel so good this way,” he gasped into her mouth.

She moaned her agreement.

 _This way_ was without a condom. _This way_ was having nothing between them.

She whined his name, pleading for him to go harder.

His hips descended heavily against her at each thrust, and she threw her head back against her coverlet, reveling in the pleasure of having him inside her, knowing that he was powerless in the embrace of her body.

“Juggie,” she moaned, cupping his face in her hands. “Are you going to fill me?”

His answering groan sounded both like defeat and desire. “God, yeah.”

He pushed himself up on the heel of one hand and made circles on her clit with the fingers of the other.

She swore hard as she hurtled over the edge, followed seconds later by him, their cries mingling in the throes of their climax.

 

******************

 

She needed to get on the pill.

If they were going to be this way, want each other this way, the pill would be a practical choice.

They were still on her bed, slightly rearranged. The headboard was above their heads and she was draped lazily over his body. He had pulled his pants back on, but he was still heavily disheveled from sex.

She hadn’t put her panties back on.

They were going to be approximately thirty minutes late.

“I’m going on the pill,” she told him, playing with his dog tags.

He made a sound and then kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t prepared. I should’ve been.”

“Shush. I could’ve done something about it, too, but I didn’t. Here we are, both throwing caution to the wind.” She grinned up at him, only to be met with the intensity of his gaze, so full of affection that she could only stare back quietly, overwhelmed.

“Yeah,” he said after a heavily pregnant pause. “We have so many places to go, so many things to do. We have to be more careful.” He pressed a kiss to her lips before pushing himself up and off the bed, heading for the bathroom, probably to freshen up.

A question rested on the tip of her tongue, dangling at the edge of her thoughts. Pauses could be nothing, but they could be everything, too.

She’d thought about what her future would be like with Jughead, traveling through space and being with him. Their lives seemed so organically intertwined in spite of the vast difference of worlds they once lived in.

They came together, her like a lost soul, him waiting for something he didn’t know he wanted. He had found purpose in the Def Cor but found something infinitely more satisfying in the Wyrm, even before she walked into his life— _that_ she wanted to believe, that he could have been happy without her, and yet with each other, she was sure she could give him more.

She didn’t mean a better life. As lavish as her life had been—was, because this luxury would always be at her disposal, it wasn’t necessarily “better”. She learned that when her initial plans collapsed and she found that she had been following the wrong path--a manufactured path, and that she had been ignoring _her_ path to happiness because she had been distracted by the pre-packaged dream of someone else. She had been in a dark tunnel, and it was only upon meeting FP that she saw a light.

Her happiness had been in the stars, and she went after it. Letting Jughead into her life had made the breadth of that happiness even bigger. There was more. So much more, and she wanted to explore that with Jughead. She wanted Jughead with her on that wonderful journey.

Her dreams were real. Building that engine was real. Standing with him, shoulder to shoulder, was real. They would be together for as long as they inspired one another, and she believed that they could go on that way forever.

But she hadn’t exactly thought about the _reality_ of forever. They hadn’t _talked_ about what having a future together entailed.

Commitment was a lovely word. Love was a beautiful thing. But did they eventually have to put a stamp on it?

“I’m ready,” Jughead said, coming out of the bathroom, as polished as he had been half an hour earlier.

She smiled, warmth spreading from her chest to her cheeks. “I suppose I’ll have to put on my panties.”

He chuckled, picking it up from the floor and holding it out to her. “I suppose so. Your mother would find that appropriate.”

She grabbed it from his hand. “Don’t tempt me, Jones.”

As she righted herself, that familiar buzz sounded from beyond her bedroom door.

“I have a message from Veronica Lodge. May I enter?” Cedonia asked.

“You may.”

The door slid open and Cedonia hovered in, floating over the bed. Veronica had left a message.

“Cedonia, relay message.”

Veronica’s voice began to filter from the speaker. “Hello, my love. Welcome back to Earth. As your best friend and number one ally, I’d just like to let you know that the vultures didn’t wait long. Wanted to give you the heads up--they’re on to you.” Cedonia projected a screen and with blossoming horror, Betty saw a TMC article, headlined:

 

 **_The Prodigal Cooper is Back: She’s Got a New Man and He Ain’t No Archie Andrews!_ **  
**_Sidebar: Why we love a good height difference._ **

 

Beneath it was a picture of her and Jughead, kissing on the sidewalk of her apartment building.

“Jesus,” gasped Jughead.

Welcome back to Earth, indeed.


	2. The Homecoming

 

Jughead spotted them instantly, the guys holding up cameras and pointing them in Betty’s direction. He looked the other way and found another, heading towards their Dryft. This one wasn’t even going to hide.

It was fortunate, then, that the Dryft they ordered was waiting for them at the curb, and moving with deliberate but calm strides, he opened the transport door for Betty to slip inside.

The photographer in the distance was still taking pictures, but the one headed in their direction hadn’t slowed in the least.

Jughead summoned all of his ESDC confidence and directed a warning finger at him. _That_ got the paparazzi to stop in his tracks, stymied by the very look that made ESDC cadets wither under Jughead’s gaze.

With the invasion neutralized, Jughead slipped into the transport with Betty and shut the door.

Betty was already on her mobile, texting with Veronica who was wondering why they were taking forever to get there.

Her phone rang and Betty sighed when she saw the name “Penny” on her screen.

“It’s my family’s publicist,” she explained, her shoulders slumped.

They had a publicist.

Of course they did. It was beginning to sink in, the way Betty’s life was under constant scrutiny by total strangers. She had mentioned some of it to him, how she attended fundraisers for high-profile charitable organizations, schmoozed money men and women at parties to get grants for members of her research team, and attending the occasional high-society event, like New York Fashion Week and the New York Botanical Garden Conservatory Ball, but he had given little thought to what that actually meant.

He didn’t think that meant TMC actually paid attention beyond the video scandals and her cancelled wedding.  

That they needed a publicist made a lot of sense.

He sighed, taking her hand. “Do you have to answer it?”

“I can ignore it and have Penny call me nonstop in the next hour or answer the call now and be done with it.”

Jughead was more of a Rip the Bandaid Off guy. “Get it over with.”

Pursing her lips, Betty swiped the green button and pulled Penny up on her projected phone screen.

Penny, as the woman was called, had a hard expression on her face. Her slender features made her face look sharp and witchy, and though she was smiling, Jughead doubted she was friendly.

“Glad to have you back, Betty. Wish I had known ahead of time, but we don’t always get what we want, and as always, I have to clean up this shit show.”

Jughead hated her already.

Betty didn’t seem particularly bothered by Penny’s abrasive tone. “My visit was supposed to be low key and uninteresting. What was the likelihood of paps hanging out at my place months later?”

“They weren’t hanging out at your place. They were hanging out at the spaceport, celebrity watching, and your mother came flying in with her fancy transport looking like a million bucks.” Penny put a cigarette between her lips and lit up. She arched an eyebrow at Jughead. “So are you going to at least tell me who this treasure is? I’d like to know if I have to clean up shit from his past, like frat boy sexual assault charges or DUIs.”

“Do I look like a fucking raping frat boy?” Jughead hissed.

“Jug.”

“Ooh, feisty! Believe me when I say that looks have nothing to do with it. Say, you wouldn’t happen to have Archie Andrew’s face stamped on your knuckles, do you?”

Jughead clenched his jaw and said nothing, while Betty squeezed his thigh to quiet him.

Betty took a deep breath and raised her finger. “So, _yes,_ he was the one who punched Archie.”

“Goodie. _Thug_ is loads easier to spin than rapist. No lie.”

Betty’s frown was intense. “Have some respect, Penny. Jughead was—“

“Jughead! This is getting better and better.”

Betty scowled and continued on loudly. “Jughead was in the ESDC. He got his education there and he rose to captain in the space force.”

Penny gave a huff, but it sounded neutral. “You look a little too young to be a vet.”

“I started early,” Jughead said. “Graduated from flight academy at 21, stayed in service until I was 26–that’s a little over a year on top of my 4-year contract.”

“Still got out early, didn’t you? The Def Cor could’ve offered you a lifetime career. They pay well. Could’ve gotten to Major. Could’ve gone higher.”

Jughead shrugged. “Had my reasons.”

Penny shrugged, too. “Normally, I don’t care, but I have to know if _you_ have shit for me to clean up. Good or bad reasons?”

“Good enough. Still on reserve until I’m thirty.”

“And you’re what now?”

“28.”

Penny gave a sardonic whoop. “Gettin’ on in years, old timer. Betty, where’d you get this gristly old man?”

Betty cast him a mischievous smile. “Just lucky, I guess.”

“And what have you been doing since then?” Penny asked.

“Bounty hunting. It’s a family business.”

Penny’s gaze swerved to Betty in disbelief. “You’re a cowboy? Terrific. Betty, have you been bounty hunting with this guy?”

Betty bit her bottom lip. “Only more recently. I’m still primarily the ship’s engineer, but sometimes Jughead and his dad need an extra gun on the field.”

“Oh, my God.” Penny brought a drink to her lips and gulped it all in one swallow. “Why can’t you just date a douchebag Wall Street wolf like all your other peers? So, have you shot at people then?”

Jughead didn’t know if that question deserved an answer, but Betty sighed and said, “Kind of necessary sometimes in this line of work, Penny. Jughead chases murderers and genocidal maniacs. Of course he’s fired a gun.”

“Christ,” Penny muttered, shuffling some papers. “Okay, I can work with the ESDC stuff and look into the bounty hunting. Anything else I should know about you?”

Betty gave his leg an encouraging shake.

Jughead sighed. “Dad used to be an alcoholic, sister’s a suspected hacker, lived in a trailer park growing up, and spent some time in juvie for arson.”

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Betty,” Penny muttered.

Betty scowled. “Jughead and his family grew past all of that and they have more to be proud of than the rich assholes living in New York penthouses on their family’s dime.”

Jughead couldn’t help but tilt an appreciative smile at her.

“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir,” Penny said, putting her hands up. “I don’t have a pristine childhood, myself, and look at me—I’m one of the highest paid publicists in the city and people fear me. Not for nothing, but I’ve buried bodies for clients.”

Betty’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

Penny scoffed after a moment’s hesitation. “Naw. Of course not.”

Jughead fet oddly unconvinced.

“Listen, Jughead,” Penny said. “The moment the gossip columns find out who you are and print your name, your ESDC history won’t be far behind. Any mention of the ESDC and the ESDC communications office will track you down and call you. When that time comes, you patch me through. Betty has my number. You got that?”

Jughead glared at her. He wasn’t going to subject the ESDC to a _publicist._

Penny rolled her eyes. “Please, I’ve spoken with their communications office plenty of times. Who do you think cleans up _their_ shit? Patch me through.”

“Fine.”

She turned her attention to Betty. “As for you, my little pretty, people lost interest in you a few months ago, but now that you’re back, people want to know where you’ve been and who this guy is you replaced Archie with.”

“He is _not_ a replacement,” Betty said, hotly.

“I’m sure he isn’t, but he’ll get called that anyway. They’ll call you names, too, and it won’t be as kind.”

“Crackwhore?”

“How did you know?”

Jughead scowled. “Are you serious?”

“She’s kidding,” Betty said.

Penny didn’t laugh. “I’m not.” She held another phone up against the screen.

 

**Abs for Archie**

**@ArchiesAbs**

We stan a good man.

batty coopers a crackwhore skank bitch

 

Seeing Betty’s name--or a representation of it--in the same sentence as “crackwhore skank bitch” was scrambling his good sense. _What the fuck?_

“This is because of Archie’s goddamn song,” Jughead growled. “I’m going to beat the shit out of him.”

Betty shook her head and sighed. “It’s alright, Jug. It’s just a tweep. It isn’t even original. Won’t be the first time someone called me a drug addicted promiscuous crazy mean prostitute on social media.”

“Get used to it, pilot,” Penny added. “It’s gonna get ugly.”

Jughead, for all the scum of the universe he’d encountered in his life—fighting them in the Def Cor and catching them bounty hunting—couldn’t begin to wrap his head around online bullying like this, directed at Betty, whose main concerns were to keep a clunky ship flying and creating an engine that everyone in the galaxy can afford.

“Who _are_ these people?” Jughead asked, trying to understand.

Perhaps seeing the mounting distress in his face, she held his hand. “They don’t mean anything to me, Jug. I’m not even on social media. When I was younger, I was, but it dragged me down. I didn’t want to have to deal with it so I shunned it. Everyone who matters to me knows how to contact me.”

“Tweepers like this are mostly Archie stans,” Penny said.

“Archie _what?”_

“Obsessed fans of Archie Andrews. Oh, it was an absolute radioactive wasteland on Twipper when Betty and Archie broke up—video scandal, cancelled wedding, best friend cat fights—you should’ve seen it. Betty has fans, too, and they were a tribe out for blood.”

Betty’s fans. Jughead found that absolutely weird, too, but at least they were defending her. “You have fans… well, that’s good, right?”

Betty laughed quietly. “When they’re aspiring young scientists, yes, and some sweet folks who just want to be positive, but then there are the ones who only care about the way I look…”

“Ah, yes,” Penny said with a cackle. “That steady influx of dick pictures in your old accounts. Good times.”

“Or on my phone,” Betty grumbled. “I don’t know how they manage to figure out my number.”

Jughead could never articulate exactly why he hated social media so much, until now.

“Poor Veronica had to deal with an unprecedented amount of vitriol around that time,” Betty added. “The hate tweeps she got were vicious. People tried to hack into her accounts, _my_ fans were stalking her, it was crazy and wrong.”

Penny made a sound. “She always had a tougher skin than you when it comes to these things. She took names, that one. The more menacing tweeps, she had her own security firm hunt them down and scare the living shit out of them. Slowed the haters down exponentially, I’ll tell you that. She fought that battle and won.”

“V always wins,” Betty said, with pride.

“Still gets dick pictures, though.”

Betty sighed. “That’s never going to stop, but she pays her security firm extra to find their mothers so she can send _them_ their sons’ dick pics. It’s one of her favorite pastimes.”

This was blowing Jughead’s mind. He knew that being in the ESDC and living most days of the year in the 3rd and 4th Quadrant was isolating, but it never occurred to him that these types of micro wars were being waged in people’s lives everyday.

Did Jellybean know about any of this? She had to. It was how she found many of their fugitives, but he’d never heard Jellybean talk about this side of it. She only ever went high level—talked about the relevant information. She never side-barred into: _oh, there was an uptick in dick pictures directed at Veronica Lodge recently._ He didn’t even think Jellybean kept up with any kind of celebrity news. Or did she?

“We don’t have to deal with any of that, Jug,” Betty told him in a soothing tone. “Penny’s firm keeps a lookout for real threats, but for the most part, it’s just white noise to me.”

“I swear to God, if anyone _tries_ to threaten you in person, I will be the last face they see on this earth.”

Penny groaned. “Seriously, you have me on speedial, Betty. He kills someone, you call me first, okay? I gotta go. Hang tight. I’m gonna put a lid on this Prodigal Cooper news cycle.”

“Thanks, Penny. Let me know if I can help.”

“Oh, just—try to keep a low profile. No locker room sex at the New York Health & Racquet Club, no cat fights at the Five Story, no cocaine sniffing at a Gramercy Park bathroom—“

 _“When_ have I ever done any of that?” Betty asked, incredulous. “You’re confusing me with Chic!”

Penny looked at her pointedly.

Betty’s face began to glow a bright red. “Veronica and I did _not_ catfight at the Five Story. We had a loud disagreement and it was months ago when I was in a very bad place in my head.”

“Oh, honey. The gossip mags are _still_ lapping up the spill of that $500 bottle of champagne you two broke while your loud discussion was going down. I’m just saying—don’t think you’re above this shit.”

“Fine. No public sex. I get it.”

“Betty,” Penny growled, casting her a threatening glare.

Betty responded to it with a mischievous smile.

This was going to get interesting.

 

****************

 

Jughead remembered seeing a movie where a world famous singer and her bodyguard fell in love, and in one of their penultimate scenes, the bodyguard, to protect the singer from a violently raucous crowd, picked her up, white knight and princess style, and carried her to safety. Jughead had laughed. He had never seen such a ridiculous flouting of reality for the sake of cinematography and drama.

But right now, it didn’t seem as funny. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to pick Betty up and carry her the short distance between the Dryft at the curb and Polly’s apartment building.

There were paps. Several of them. And they were already calling Betty’s name.

“Hey, Betty! Look here! Smile for once!”

“Betty! Betty! You look awesome! Who you wearing?”

“Is that your new boyfriend, Betty? What’s his name?”

“You’re looking gorgeous, Betty! You’re glowing! Give us a look, will ya?”

“Are you here to see the twins, Betty? Do you know who the father is?”

“Betty, hey! Is Chic out of rehab yet?”

Jughead stifled the urge to make threatening eye contact, opting instead to put a protective hand on the base of Betty’s nape and shield her from most of the cameras.

The painful urge to do a Bodyguard and pick her up began to wane, however, when he saw the steely look in her eyes.

Betty stepped out of the transport and pretended with practiced ease that the paps weren’t there. Chin held high, she slipped her arm around his waist and they walked purposefully across the sidewalk, towards the waiting doorman, and through the building doors.

As soon as the building doors closed behind them, her eyes softened with relief, and he gave into the urge to pull her even closer.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered against his chest.

He kissed the top of her head, happy that he could give her the support she needed.

Their moment of reprieve was interrupted by the familiar voice of Veronica Lodge.

“B, oh, my God! Finally!”

Veronica was there, enfolding Betty in an embrace, and before Jughead could step back and give them space, Veronica was embracing him, too.  

Veronica’s general lack of boundaries always surprised him.

“God, you guys took forever!” Veronica cried. Though there was a lot of affection in her voice, there was no mistaking the strain. “B, your mom’s been so quietly furious, I had to get out of there. I think she expected you to arrive 45 minutes ago.”

“So she’s still here.”

“Yes.”

“I was hoping she would’ve left in a huff by now.”

Veronica cast her a gently chastising look. She transferred her gaze to Jughead and seemed suddenly surprised. “Well, you look different.”

He looked at himself self-consciously. “Is there something wrong with the way I look? Betty looked at me funny earlier, too.”

“I did not! I said you looked hot!”

“Ah, so that explains why you’re late.”

Neither of them denied it, but Jughead wasn’t going to let Veronica distract from the original question. “Seriously, Veronica. Is there something wrong with the way I look?”

“There is nothing wrong with the way you look. I just expected something a bit more…”

“More, what?”

“Rugged?”

Jughead chuckled. “You mean more blue collar?”

“That is _not_ what I said!”

Betty made a tutting sound and looped her arm around Jughead’s. “Oh, stop teasing her, Juggie. And there is nothing wrong with a blue collar look, whatever that means. V, he cleans up good. We know this. You’ve seen him in a suit.”

“Did you at least bring a piece?” Veronica asked. “I feel like I don’t know you if you don’t have one.”

Jughead made a face. “No. We’re here to see babies, for God’s sake. I can’t hold a baby with a gun on me.”

Veronica tilted her chin at him. “Aw, you’re a softie wrapped in a tough guy!”

“Juggie is _such_ a softie, you have no idea, V.” Betty pressed a kiss on his cheek.

He cocked a slow grin. “I have my moments.”

“Let’s go, then. Polly and Mama Cooper are waiting,” Veronica said, waving for them to follow her.

Jughead looked over his shoulder and saw nothing but a busy street through the doors. He couldn’t see any of the paparazzi.

The lobby itself was cast in marble and tastefully gilded details, with the modern pieces accenting the Victorian inspiration of the design. The lighting cast beautiful shadows while putting spotlights on various expensive art pieces. It looked like a museum for classic art and if this is what the lobby looked like, the penthouse must look amazing.

The elevator had an attendant and Jughead wondered what it was like to work in a box all day, being anonymous to most of the people using it.

Betty was smoothing the front of her dress, taking deep breaths to steady whatever nerves she had.

Jughead thought back to the day he _almost_ called Alice Cooper to come get her daughter. Seeing Betty now and having felt the full tidal wave that was Alice Cooper, Jughead realized that having Alice come to the Wyrm to take Betty away would’ve obliterated their relationship permanently. Everything they built—the trust, the love, the friendship would have turned to dust.

“Hey,” he said, gently, sliding his hand at the base of her nape. “There is _nothing_ that Alice can do to you that could be worse than Peitho.”

She looked at him like he had thrown her a lifeline.

“Those fuckers thought you were nothing but something to be sold and you told them no,” he went on. “Your mother has _no idea_ how strong you are. She thinks she has power over you because she has no idea what you’ve overcome.”

The steely resolve returned in her gaze and she nodded. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I don’t have to be afraid of her.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of anyone, baby. Not your mom, not the media.”

Betty nodded more resolutely as the elevator dinged.

“Amen to that,” Veronica said, distracted by something on her phone as they stepped out into the elevator lobby. “The media’s fast as hell, though. You’ve got stans, Jughead.”

There was that word again. “What?”

“Someone set up a Twipper account with your picture on it.” She gave her phone to him and he saw an avatar of himself, pointing at someone off-camera, his face radiating intimidation. It was the scene outside of Betty’s apartment building, when he wagged a finger at an approaching pap.

Beside the profile picture, it said:

 

**Lucky Sonofabitch**

@BettyCoopersMan

Gets to go home with Betty Cooper.

The account’s first Tweep was:

I’m not saying I rearranged Archie Andrews’ face, but I rearranged Archie Andrews’ face.

The tweep already had over 50K likes and rising as he stared at it. The account itself had about 15,000 followers and counting.

He stared at it, mystified. “Well, his grammar’s correct.”

Betty rolled her eyes. “Where did this picture even happen? Wait, that’s the outside of my apartment building. This was taken forty five minutes ago?”

“Give or take,” Jughead replied. “This is incredible and extremely disturbing.”

Veronica took her phone back and snorted. “Welcome to the big leagues, Fly Boy.”

His tag dinged, and dazed, he answered it. It was Jellybean and she sent him a screenshot of the same Twipper profile.

**_That chu on the profile photo bro?_ **

Jughead replied, **_Yeah._**

**_Want me to find out who this bozo is and flood his system?_ **

The corner of Jughead’s lip lifted. **_Knock yourself out, kid, and while you’re at it, find @ArchiesAbs and tell that punk that he better take back every bad thing he’s said about Betty or I will come find him and introduce myself._ **

**_Okie dokie._ **

_Big leagues, here come the Joneses._

 

********************

 

Polly had shiny blonde hair and wide green eyes, just like her sister. She was a little taller than Betty and her overall appearance looked incredibly polished, from the top of her silky headband to the toes of her very expensive flats.

She looked uncannily slender for someone who had just given birth to twins. And put-together, too.

Jughead thought that a first-time single mom with two newborns would seem more frazzled, but not Polly. She looked absolutely on point, and even if the twins were sleeping in completely out-of-design woven bassinets, the tastefully attached blue and pink ribbons with ivory-lace trim seemed so classically what he knew of Alice Cooper that he could almost see the invisible ribbon choking Polly where she stood.

“Betty!” Polly cried, running to her sister even before Betty could cross the living room. “Oh, my God! When mom told me you’d be flying in today, I was _so_ happy! I was afraid that you suddenly decided not to come by today.”

“Polly why would I suddenly decide not to show up?”

“Because you’re almost an hour late.” Alice said, eyebrow arched. “I never knew you to be tardy, Elizabeth.” She shot Jughead a look, as if he were to blame for it.

 _She’s not wrong,_ he thought with a barely contained smirk.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Betty said in a tight tone.

Polly put her hands up in a soothing gesture. “Let’s not fight. We haven’t seen Betty in such a long time.”

“We’re not fighting,” Alice snapped. “I’m just saying that being late is rude.”

Veronica opened her mouth but snapped it shut when Polly’s eyes darted fiercely in her direction. With finely tuned calm, the ferocity disappeared from Polly’s expression and panned over to Betty. “Sis, just look at you! I always loved this dress on you!”

Betty smiled and it did reach her eyes, catching his gaze for a moment. “It’s my favorite.”

Jughead tried and failed to hide his own smile. This was the dress Betty wore the first time he kissed her. This was the first dress he removed from her body. It was his favorite, too.

Polly’s eyes finally fell on him, and for all of Polly’s outward sweetness, her green eyes flashed with pointed suspicion. “And who’s your guest, Betty?”

Betty’s eyes radiated with excitement. She pulled her sister towards him. “Polly, this is Jughead Jones, my boyfriend.”

“O-oh!” Polly extended her hand to him and he took it in a shake. Her grip was soft and light. He barely felt it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, um, Jug—I’m sorry, what was that again?”

“Jughead,” he repeated. “It’s a nickname.”

“I hope so.”

 _“Polly,”_ Betty said, pointedly. “Jughead is a fugitive recovery agent at the Whyte Wyrm, where I work.”

Polly’s eyes widened momentarily. “You’re a bounty hunter.”

Jughead nodded. “I am.”

“That is—that’s—“

“Exciting?” Veronica interjected.

“A dangerous job,” Polly finally said.

He supposed she could’ve said all the other things that were almost surely going through her mind, most of which probably weren’t favorable. “It is.”

Alice made a sound. “The Jones men always liked living on the edge, that’s for sure.”

Jughead tried not to imagine what made Alice so intimate with that knowledge.

“Would you like to see the babies?” Polly finally said.

The abrupt change of subject gave Jughead the impression that Polly was grappling to hold things together, herself. He had to wonder what sort of family atmosphere these ladies had grown up in, with Polly trying her best to keep this veneer of aggressive normality, even given this situation that Jughead could only assume wasn’t what Alice would’ve approved of—having Polly pregnant without a husband, of Polly refusing to reveal the father’s identity. And then there was Betty, who flew all the way across the galaxy to get away from her mother’s influence where, he hoped, she was finding her own way and happiness.

He by no means had an ideal childhood. He had been neglected and then discarded, and perhaps he would’ve given anything for his parents to care about what he did and what he wanted to become, but he couldn’t imagine he’d take well to being so intensely managed by his parents, either. He couldn’t imagine he’d feel any less suffocated by that. He would want to break free, too.

Polly went to the basket with the pink ribbon and carefully scooped out a blue-eyed, blonde haired bundle, cooing as the baby girl made soft gurgling sounds.

Betty’s eyes lit. “Is this little June? She is so incredibly precious!”

“Juniper was born first,” Polly said, whispering as she transferred the baby into Betty’s waiting arms.

Juniper made a cooing sound, grasping at Betty’s face. Betty smiled, kissing the baby’s palm and rocking her gently. Juniper gave a tiny squeak of appreciation.

“You’re a natural, B!” Veronica said, approaching and looking over Betty’s shoulder.

Jughead tried not to get too amused by Veronica’s body language--one of affection but also of obvious discomfort. Her light touches signified love, but the tilt of her hips signified that there was a boundary she wasn’t willing to cross just yet. She wasn’t going to be picking babies up today.

“Juggie, look at her eyes,” Betty said, bringing Juniper over for him to see. “They’re as blue as yours.”

He was looking, but not at the baby. He could stare at Betty all day, a baby in her arms, making loving faces while dropping kisses on tiny fists and noses.

There was a pang in in his chest, thrown back into the memory of two weeks ago when all he wanted was for Betty to tell him that things were going to change, and as far as he was concerned, it was in a good way.

He needed to focus his gaze on the baby in her arms, and he took in the baby’s adorably round face and little pink lips. Her eyelashes framed her cerulean eyes. Jughead offered his finger and Juniper instantly grasped it.

Betty grinned and smiled up at him. “She likes uncle Juggie.”

Jughead was dying. Slowly.

“And this is Dagwood,” Polly said, shoving a bundle of blue in _his_ arms.

He had an arm full of baby, and as little Dagwood stared up at him with _his_ blue eyes, Jughead felt mesmerized by the chubby cheeks and that new human smell.

“Heya, sport,” he said, softly. “How you holding up?”

Dagwood’s answering coo made Polly grin. “You seem pretty comfortable holding a baby, Jughead.”

He shrugged, smiling tenderly at the bundle in his arms. “Took care of my sister growing up. She was small enough and I was big enough. I guess--” he gave Dagwood a goofy look that earned him Dagwood’s toothless grin “--you never forget.”

Alice walked up to him and Dagwood, cupping Dagwood’s head in her palm. “I hope Gladys thanked you for all those hours you put in.”

“Mom,” Betty said, her tone heavy with disapproval. “Not everyone can hire an _au pair_ to take care of their kids when they have to go work.”

Jughead appreciated Betty’s defense of his generally indefensible mother, but this was not a hill he wanted Betty to die on. “It’s okay, Betts. Your mom’s right. My mom could’ve been a bit more appreciative.”

Betty bumped his shoulder gently. “Yeah. I guess she could’ve been.”

He noted a hint of an apology in her gaze, which he thought was ridiculous. She didn’t need to apologize for anything.

The soft click of a digital camera sounded and Jughead realized that Veronica had just taken a picture of them.

“Adorable,” Veronica said, her fingers flying over her phone’s touchscreen. Seconds later, he felt his tag buzz. “You guys should have babies of your own.”

 _“Really,_ Veronica,” Alice huffed disapprovingly. “It’s quite enough that I have _one_ daughter popping babies out of wedlock. Let’s not put any fool ideas into Betty’s head.”

Jughead refrained from mentioning that it would take more than “fool ideas” to get a baby in Betty, and that he was the one who would probably take over half that task, but the uproar that would cause was largely unnecessary.

“Who said anything about wedlock?” Betty said, tightly.

Jughead had never felt so paralyzed with glee.

Veronica’s jaw dropped and Polly’s eyes widened in what he could only decipher as fear. Alice turned so red that she looked like she was going to have a stroke.

“What do you mean by that?” she demanded, sharply.

Betty scowled as she rocked the baby in her arms. “Settle down, all of you. I have no surprises up my sleeve. It’s just me, Juggie, his family and you guys.  I am here to see my niece and nephew, period.”

Alice looked way more relieved that Jughead would like, but she didn’t look appeased. “Honestly, Elizabeth. What if your father were here? He would’ve had a coronary!”

“Why, though?” Betty cried.

Jughead recognized that look in her eyes, how her chin lifted and her back straightened. He had seen this defiance in her stance, time and time again.

“Why would he have a coronary? I’m twenty-six years old. I’m old enough to make my own decisions. Why can’t daddy be happy for me if decide I want to have babies or get married? What is so wrong with that?”

Jughead wasn’t so sure if he was relevant in this conversation at the moment, honestly.

Betty had handed Juniper back to Polly and she had taken a few steps forward, her fists curled on her sides. “You were more than happy to hand me back to that _cheater_ Archie Andrews. Why would you object to Jughead who is perfectly respectable, honest, and incredibly good for me?”

And it did occur to Jughead, at that moment, that yes, he _was_ relevant to this discussion.

Alice’s face hardened.  “Archie Andrews is an entirely different beast, Elizabeth. I appreciated him because he was _completely_ predictable. Sure, his eyes wander--”

 _“Eyes?”_ Betty cried.

“Yes, but apart from that, you had him under your control.”

Polly gasped, setting Juniper down in her basket. _“Mother!”_

“I _don’t want_ a husband under my control!” Betty cried. “I want a partner! Are you even listening to yourself?”

Veronica jumped in, at great peril to herself. “Mrs. C! Perhaps--”

“Oh, are you talking about this one?” Alice snapped, gesturing wildly in his direction. “Jughead Jones?  Do you even realize how wild these Joneses are? They are impossible to tame, Elizabeth! I know! I’ve tried!”

Betty was breathing heavily and she looked explosive, like she was about to jump her mother and do something unpleasant.  

“Jughead,” she finally said. “I’d like to leave.”

“Oh, _don’t!”_ Polly cried. “You just got here, Betty! Please--”

Jughead was already handing Dagwood over to Polly, ready to follow Betty out the door, but Alice stood and began to head for the door before any of them.

“No, I’m leaving.” Her tone was strangely dispassionate. “This conversation is not productive. I have an appointment, anyhow. Penny’s contacted you, I assume, and she probably gave you a high level picture of what sort of buzz your return has generated. Jughead, she’ll contact you again to give you the finer points of what it’s like to be part of this--this _narrative._ Elizabeth, your father would like to have dinner with you some time. Please drop him a note and let him know when you’re available.”

She was out and slamming the door before Betty could say anything else.

“Wait a minute,” Polly said, her voice cutting through the silence. “What does she mean by she’s tried taming the Joneses?”

 

****************

 

As frustrated as Betty got being beaten by her mother in the ownership of the dramatic, angry, walkout, it was, in retrospect, better for her that Alice left and she got to stay and enjoy the company of Polly and the twins.

Veronica had called the entire blowout a “classic Mama Cooper”.

Jughead had to wonder which part was “classic”. Was it the part where she expressed her need to control people? Or was it the part where she pushed Betty’s buttons surely enough to provoke her anger?

Both Betty and Polly had apologized to him for having to witness that, of course, and he meant it when he told them they didn’t need to apologize.

Jughead didn’t know if it was because he’d been holding a baby, but he had felt oddly calm the entire time. For all of Alice’s outrageous statements, it was obvious that Alice’s misgivings towards him had everything to do with his father and very little to do with class. She didn’t prefer Archie because he was richer, she preferred Archie because he was, in a word, an idiot. Jughead can forgo the sting of being _less_ preferred because Alice was consistent in her need for control, control she felt couldn’t be imposed on _him._

He refrained from mentioning that Betty didn’t need to control him. He was already well and happily whipped.

Polly’s reaction to the revelation that Alice and FP dated in the past leaned a little more elitist than all of Alice’s loud rants.

“Are you of the Welsh Joneses?” Polly had asked, perplexed, perhaps, by the idea that Alice would be with someone whose station in life wasn’t at least of the peerage.

Betty had bristled slightly at the question. “Polly, Jughead has no relation to the Baronetcy of the House of Abberffraw. No, he is not of the Welsh Joneses.”

Veronica had giggled at the suggestion. “Sir Forsythe Pendleton Jones III actually has a nice ring to it.”

Jughead wasn’t put off. Polly may have been rolling in privilege, but she was sweet and well meaning. “Yeah, dad’s family were upstate New York moonshiners turned bottlers. Could’ve been rich if they’d run the bottling factory properly, but it was already falling to ruin around my fourth birthday and by the time I was seven, we were full-on trailer trash.”

Polly had turned beet-red. “Oh, good heavens, I—that must’ve been—I am so deeply sorry—“

“Oh, for God’s sake, Pol,” Betty muttered. “There are worse things in life than a bad investment and growing up poor. And as you can see, Jughead and his family are doing pretty well now.”

Jughead had tried not to laugh at Polly’s obvious disagreement of Betty’s assertion that he was “doing pretty well”, but to her credit, she didn’t seem to mind having him there, being her sister’s boyfriend. She even let him hold Dagwood for most of the visit.

He suspected that having a shared adversary, a.k.a. their mother, had a tendency to foster solidarity that spanned the classes.

“I hope mother wasn’t too, um, overbearing when she, no doubt, pranced into your ship, Jughead,” Polly had said, using a small towel to wipe Dagwood’s drool.

“Overbearing isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” he said, diplomatically.

Betty had no such qualms about laying it out without filter. “Oh, Polly, she was in fine form this morning. She walked in with her her five-inch Louboutins and tailored Charles Youssef, saying the most provocative things to FP. He was floored.”

“I wouldn’t say he was _floored,”_ Jughead grumbled in defense of his father.

Betty shot him a skeptical glare.

“Okay, maybe a little.”

“Five inch Louboutins!” Veronica cried. “She totally wants to fuck him.”

“Whoa!” Jughead cried. “Take it easy!”

“There are babies, Veronica!” Polly scolded, seriously.

Betty’s scowl was intense. “V, mom is still married to my father. We frown upon infidelity.”

“Fine, _fine._ That was a little outta line. Sorry, but as an objective third party, I’m tickled by this.”

“Yeah, you’re in a room full of people with a personal stake in this, so maybe don’t,” Jughead said, casting Veronica a pointed look.

“Can someone show me a picture of this FP that has mother so hot and bothered?” Polly asked.

Veronica pulled up her phone and tapped on its touch screen. “I have one of him. Jughead’s dad is a total DILF.”

“V!” Betty cried.

Jughead felt his stomach turn. “Jesus Christ, Veronica. _Please_ take that back.”

Veronica scoffed, handing her phone over to Polly and evading Betty’s hand, which was attempting to slap away the device. “Oh, shush. Look at him, Polly. You can bet your ass Alice tapped that back in the day.”

The overwhelming heat that spread from his chest to his face had him wrestling with his words.

Polly stared at the phone, her eyebrow arching as she looked between the photo and Jughead, as if comparing them. “My goodness, no wonder mom has been particularly unbearable the last few days. Did she get her reunion with her bad boy yet?”

“Oh, my God,” Jughead groaned. “Bad boy? Really?” Did _he_ come off as a bad boy? Even now, dressed the way he was?

“If you ask me, they should never be left alone, together,” Veronica said with absolute certainty. “They are both of them smoking hot. Like parents, like ki—“

“I swear to God, V, don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Betty interjected quickly.

Polly changed the subject abruptly from there, much to Jughead’s relief.

It was more catch up from there, with most of the telling coming from Polly. She was animated, happy that her sister was home and perhaps relieved that there were others there to hold the babies for her.

Jughead was frankly surprised she didn’t already have nannies to help out.

“Brother Edgar thinks it best we bond with our offspring completely,” was what she said when Betty suggested that she might benefit from a break a couple of hours a day.

Jughead could see Betty’s lips pursing, like she was getting ready to unleash a tirade, but Veronica’s foot stepped lightly on Betty’s. Perhaps this wasn’t the time. So she said nothing to quell Polly’s obvious devotion to the so-called Brother Edgar. For now.

That was the last mention of the cult. Polly went on to talk about high-society gossip and high profile events that she thought Betty should attend while she was on Earth.

Jughead could see Betty’s eyes glazing over at the prospect. He couldn’t imagine that Betty would necessarily enjoy watching parade after parade of models strutting down a catwalk, or being in a room schmoozing with New York elites. From what he’d learned of her the past few months, these were the things she had only been too glad to leave behind.

When Polly’s eyes began to droop, however, Betty begged her leave. Veronica was also very quick to exit, as well.

Polly did ask Betty nicely if she could drop by again, soon.

“As often as I can, Pol,” Betty promised, squeezing her sister in an embrace. “While I’m here.”

Polly smiled and looked at him with her tired eyes. “You’re welcome to come along, too, Jughead.”

He nodded, appreciating her invitation. Even if he felt that he had nothing at all in common with Polly, she was, at her core, a nice person. And different though her situation with Betty may be, they were parallel in their motivations. Where Betty had taken off into the stars, Polly had run into the bosom of a cult. They both sought some kind of escape. He hoped at least that Polly was finding deliverance.

If he knew Polly had the stomach for it, he’d offer her a place in the Wyrm, babies and all, but then he couldn’t imagine Polly going from a penthouse in New York to a dingy old ship with one bathroom.

When they reached the ground floor and stepped out in the lobby, Betty turned to Veronica. “Is this Brother Edgar the father of those kids?”

Veronica sighed. “I have no idea, V. If Polly’s going to tell anyone, it’s you. We both know that shortly after she joined the farm, she got pregnant. Maybe he _is_ the father, or maybe she was already pregnant when she joined them.  I don’t know.”

Betty sighed, looking truly distressed. “I’ll just have to ask her—not that it should matter. I just hope she’s alright with all this, with the father not being around or engaged. God, this has been a day. I haven’t even seen dad yet.”

Veronica said nothing, but she didn’t look pleased. Whatever Betty’s father was, Veronica seemed to like him even less than she did Alice.

Veronica said her goodbyes to them, striding through the front doors to her waiting transport outside.

He sat with Betty in the luxurious lobby, waiting for their Dryft, and he took her hands in his. She smiled tiredly at him.

“Do you just want to hang out at your place for a bit? We can get a late lunch if we feel like going out, order takeout if we want to stay in.”

She leaned over and kissed him, unhurried and soothing, like breathing after holding it underwater, like she was finally letting her tension go.

They separated with their foreheads still touching.

“You’ve been so wonderful, Juggie,” she whispered. “I am sorry that you have to put up with my family’s drama. And the paparazzi, and Penny, and all this bullshit—“

“Hey, hey,” he interrupted gently. “Don’t worry about me. All _this_ —it’s startling, yeah, but it doesn’t scare me. I’m here for you, and if you need me to stand up for you, I will.”

She kissed him again, hands warm along the sides of his face and her fingers grazing the skin of his nape.

Her phone dinged, signaling the arrival of their Dryft. He could see the rise and fall of her chest, the bracing of her body against the waiting paparazzi outside.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded. “Ready.”

 

*******************

 

They grabbed some burgers on their way back to Betty’s apartment, but unlike the burger joints of Jughead’s youth, where they stood in line at counter run by college students and FP hustled for two for one deals, Betty walked them both through the doors of a dimly lit restaurant, with a host to greet them and where even the takeout table was covered in rich white cloth. The restaurateur welcomed Betty like an old friend, asking her if she was there for her usual takeout order.

“You can’t tell me you still remember, Will,” she said, shyly.

“ _Niçoise_ with ahi tuna and _haricots verts,”_ Will said, with a wink.

Jughead didn’t think he could pronounce what Will just said if he tried.  

Betty’s smile was one of amazement. “You do remember! I’m impressed. Yes, one of that, plus a couple of your dry-aged beef burgers with bacon and a side of _frites_ with _andalouse_. If you can throw in a slice of cheesecake with raspberry compote, as well, that would be wonderful. Put it on my mother’s tab.”

Will didn’t question it in the least. “Coming right up!” He left to pass their order along.

“Your mother’s tab, huh,” Jughead remarked, eyebrow raised.

“After what she put us through today? She owes us.”

Jughead wasn’t going to dispute it. A quick glance at the menu told him that the entire order would cost them the equivalent of three days worth of meals on the Wyrm.  

By the look on Betty’s face, she specifically chosen this restaurant for her mother to foot the bill in.

“She probably won’t notice, to be honest,” Betty grumbled.  “But it’ll help me sleep at night.”

When the order arrived, they went straight to Betty’s apartment, where they had their late lunch then, while enjoying dessert, got ideas about the very spacious shower that would never run out of hot water.

 

*****************

 

Jughead leaned against Betty’s walk in closet door and watched in amusement as Betty’s brow furrowed in the face of her endless rack of clothes.

Her damp hair fell in waves down her back and shoulders, her body wrapped in a fluffy towel. If they hadn’t already gone a couple of rounds, he might have been tempted to yank that towel off and go for round three.

But to her point, they were in one of the greatest cities in the galaxy. It would be folly to waste it.

He was already dressed—just a shirt and jeans, this time, just comfortable enough for a stroll to FP and Jellybean’s apartment before taking a Dryft to have dinner at a barbecue place. Afterwards, Jellybean and FP were welcome to join them for an evening of author events at the Strand.

Betty, however, was having an existential crisis. “How did I ever manage to decide what to wear? Did I always just wear business suits? And did I not realize that I had too many _sweaters?”_

He cocked a smile and crossed his arms over his chest. “You must’ve looked incredibly hot in business suits.”

She chuckled and pulled out a black blazer. “You’d think so. I think I heard the word ‘uptight’ bandied around when people were gossiping in the office bathroom and they didn’t know I was there.”

Sometimes, he didn’t know if she was exaggerating. He supposed the tightness of her ponytail was some kind of representation of her, but in the most basic sense, their sex was so good, he couldn’t even imagine her being as uptight as she claimed she was.

She went to another rack, where her pants and skirts were, and as she riffled through her hangers, he settled himself on the bench at the center of the closet.

Betty’s life was impressive, with its walk in closets, publicists, high-class hangouts, and making appointments with one’s own family, but he was even more impressed by the fact that she left it all behind and carried on like a total champ in the Wyrm, as if running out of hot water in the bathroom was the only thing she had to adjust to.

But he knew, on an intimate level _what_ made her leave it all behind, and he admired her for it—her convictions, her need to change the narrative of her life, to _fix_ what everyone would’ve perceived to be a perfectly good life.

Betty Cooper didn’t care about living an expensive, luxuriant lifestyle. She wanted to be happy. She wanted what she did to mean something. And best of all, she wants  _him._

He couldn’t think about loving anyone else this much.

“Aha!” Betty cried, pulling out a pair of jeans. “I think I still fit in these. Don’t laugh if I don’t.”

He scowled. “I will never laugh at you for that.”

She grinned and grabbed a shirt off another rack. “I know. I swear, I hadn’t cared about my dress size in months, and then one minute with my mother in a room and I’m trying to convince her that I’m not that far off a size 4. Did you see Polly this morning? It was like she was never pregnant with twins! That’s some next level Alice Conditioning right there, I swear. Mom always makes us feel like we’re walking the La Perla runway the next day.”

He sighed, trying not to think about Betty and babies. This wasn’t what they were here for.

“Jug? You okay?” She pulled on some underwear, and any other day, the lacy blue ensemble would’ve had him ready at attention, but he was too flustered at being caught in his emotions to get turned on.

“I’m fine.”

_Shit._

She frowned. They all knew what “fine” meant. “Juggie.”

“It’s nothing, Betts. Get dressed. I can’t wait to go out in the city with you.”

She shook her head, pulling her jeans on. They still fit. “Babe, we said we’d always talk about things. Please tell me what’s wrong. Is all this overwhelming you?”

He considered lying and telling her _yes_ , it was all this glitz and glamor, the privileged childhood of her youth and the trashy life he led in comparison, but it was none of that.

“It’s not. It’s really stupid, Betts. A little embarrassing, so maybe—“

“You can tell me anything,” she said, more gently. She pulled her t-shirt over her head and went to him, sliding onto his lap and draping her arms over his shoulders.

He let out a breath, staring into her eyes that were so filled with concern.

“I’m just—I’ve been getting these thoughts in my head, maybe because I’m pushing thirty. I don’t know.”

“Jug. Are you worried about erectile dysfunction?”

He choked on his own spit, breaking out in a laugh. That was unexpected, but welcome, in that it broke the ice of his uncertainty. “Oh, God no. Should I be?”

She chuckled. “Not that I’ve noticed. You’re always ready for sexy times.”

 _“Always?_ Really?”

She grinned. “So, it’s not that. What’s bothering you then?”

“It isn’t that it’s bothering me. It’s not that.” He wasn’t sure if he should say anything at all. He didn’t want her to think he was pressuring her, but contrary to what he said, it _was_ bothering him. It was in his thoughts. Maybe talking about it with her would settle them. Give the thought a chance to breathe. “It’s just—that day you told us about Polly, I saw you shopping for baby merchandise before that, and I thought—“ he felt heat rise up his neck. “I thought we were having a baby.”

He didn’t even think about how he was going to phrase it, and the word “we” slipped out faster than he could reconsider.

Her lips were parted in perhaps mild surprise. She didn’t look put off, but she did seem slightly apprehensive. “Juggie. How did you feel about that?”

“I wanted it,” he said with breathless emotion. “I wanted it so bad, Betts.”

The expression on her face was one of deep apology, and though it did disappoint him a little that she wasn’t jumping out of her seat to agree with him, telling him that she wanted babies, too, he had expected that having kids wasn’t top of mind for her right now.

“I’m sorry,” she said, cupping his face in her hands.

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize. And I’m not asking for a baby. I know you have so many things you want to accomplish and having a baby complicates that. It’s just what I felt and it’s not—you don’t even have to respond, just—“

 _“Someday,”_ she interjected, gently. “Someday. With you. That would be wonderful.”

There was that pang in his chest again, that feeling of wanting something so bad that it hurt, but it was enough that she’d like to in the future, with him. It had to be.

The feather light touch of her lips upon his sent a ripple if warmth through his body. He chased more of it, sliding his fingers through her hair to pull her closer.

The gentle touching of their mouths became a more desperate seeking of lips and tongue, and the moan that rose from Betty was accompanied by the frantic scrabbling for the edge of his shirt.

“We can _pretend_ to make this baby, yes?” she breathed against his lips as she pulled his shirt up.

He nodded. “Absolutely. Like, we can pretend as many times as you want.” He let her remove his shirt quickly so he can continue kissing her. He clamped his hand on her ass and thrust his hips to feel some pressure on his hardening length, but a disembodied voice cut through his lust filled haze.

Cedonia’s soothing voice tried to be as unimposing as possible, and while Jughead could see the shadow of it hovering beyond the dressing room door, it hid behind the corner, as if embarrassed to intrude.

“Betty,” Cedonia said. “Somebody is at the door. Would you like me to see who it is?”

Jughead tried to control his breathing, watching the rise and fall of Betty’s chest. He was mesmerized by the movements of her body, and unable to resist her, he began to kiss the side of her neck, sucking gently on her skin while slipping his hand beneath her shirt.

She made a humming noise, her head lolling back to give him more access and her body arching to press her breast more firmly against his hand.

“Betty, would you like me to find out who is at the door?” Cedonia asked with less volume.

Sighing, and probably a little incoherent, Betty replied, “Sure, Cedonia.”

Betty tilted his face up by the chin, her mouth clamping over his as their tongues tangled slowly against each other.

His answering groan had her smiling.

“Your father, Hal Cooper, is at the door.”

Betty froze, and Jughead had to admit, a heavy brick of trepidation thunked in his belly.

“Shit,” Betty hissed, sliding off his lap.

She looked into the mirror, straightening her appearance.

Jughead frantically looked at himself and saw that there was absolutely no way he could walk out there to meet Betty’s father with the raging erection he now had in his pants. He closed his eyes and visualized the flog worms of Athendal, or the slimy swamps of Xorcese. He remembered falling into that swamp and how it took days to get that spit like consistency from the hairs of his body, how some of it got in his mouth.

“Um,” Betty began, looking down his pants worriedly.  “You can stay here a moment while you—and I—“

“Go,” he said, trying to recall even more gross memories. “Go let your dad in. I’ll, um, be okay in a few.”

She cast him a sympathetic smile as she hurried out.

As he watched her disappear around the corner, he was taken back to that morning, when Alice walked out of the ship, blonde hair whipping over her shoulder as his father drank in the sight. The fact that his father’s eyes had followed Alice as she left and disappeared made Jughead frown in distaste.

His erection waned.

He was good to go.

 

**********************

 

When Jughead emerged from Betty’s room, Hal was standing between the kitchen and the living room, hands in his pockets as Betty stood before him, feet together and hands clasped in front of her in a very proper, unimposing way.

Hal looked up and Jughead met gazes with what he might consider a generically handsome man—square jawed, clean cut blonde hair, an ultra-expensive suit, and the build of an aging football player.

His brown eyes scanned over Jughead with penetrating intensity before they glossed over with what looked like a very deliberate filter of pleasant calm.

Betty’s face blossomed to an intense red, but she didn’t miss a beat as she scurried to Jughead’s side and looped her hand around his arm. “Daddy, this is Jughead Jones. Juggie, this is Hal Cooper, my father.”

She was gesturing in an oddly polite way, and for a moment, Jughead was a little confused by _this_ version of her. Where her mother had summoned animosity, at least Betty was being herself when she was around Alice. Hal seemed to summon something else entirely.

With him Betty was formal, like she was introducing a boss instead of a father. She seemed more at ease, however, like she was assured of Hal’s good opinion of her.

Jughead shook Hal Cooper’s hand. The perfectly manicured nails and soft skin was a front for Hal’s iron grip.

“Mr. Cooper. I’ve—“ He paused. He hadn’t heard _a thing_ about Hal. His own daughter hardly talked about him. He rephrased. “I’m glad we can finally meet.”

Hal nodded. “Likewise, Jughead. Son of FP Jones, correct? I knew your father from long ago, when he was friends with Betty’s mother.”

_Uh oh._

Betty’s eyes widened slightly. “FP’s great, dad. He’s been looking out for me these past few months.”

The arch of Hal’s eyebrow was not lost on Jughead. “That’s good to hear, Elizabeth. Is he here in New York?”

Betty nodded. “He is. Mom put him and Jughead’s sister up in the Parc Acre apartment.”

“As she should have,” said Hal in a tone so neutral, it made Jughead a tad uneasy.

“We were, in fact, going to meet them for dinner.”

“Betts,” Jughead said. “We can cancel if—“

“Jug,” she interjected, gently. “FP’s expecting us. I don’t want to be rude.”

It really _wasn’t_ a big deal to cancel on his dad. FP was a New York native himself so he knew his way around, and besides that, they’d spent _months_ together on the ship. FP wouldn’t care if they skipped an evening out.

Jughead didn’t want Betty to miss spending time with her dad on FP’s account. Even FP would encourage her to have dinner with her father. “He won’t think anything of it. I’m sure you’d like to spend time with your dad.”

She fidgeted uneasily, even as Hal said, “Are you sure your father wouldn’t mind? I _did_ come here unannounced.”

Jughead shrugged. “He’s fine. Go with your dad, Betts.”

Hal looked at him askance. “Are you not coming with us?”

He checked with Betty surreptitiously and she seemed mildly expectant, like she was leaving it entirely up to him.

He wasn’t quite sure what Betty wanted, but he was entirely willing to join Betty and Hal. Wasn’t that the sort of thing a serious boyfriend did? Meet the parents? “I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense,” Hal said, clamping a none-too-gentle hand on Jughead’s shoulder. “I’d like to get to know you. You are dating my daughter, are you not?”

He gave Jughead a pointed look, and Jughead wondered momentarily if Hal Cooper was testing him somehow. “I am. And if you don’t mind me joining you…”

Hal shrugged. “Not at all.”

“Okay, then.”

She cast him a muted smile.

“Wonderful! Then it’s all settled. We’re having dinner at my favorite place: Twelve Madison Avenue. Hell of a restaurant. Three Michelin stars.”

Betty sighed and gave her father a somewhat scolding look. “Dad, that’s too fancy.”

“Only the best for my baby girl.”

Rolling her eyes, she began to usher Jughead back towards the bedroom. “We’ll have to get better dressed, then. Do you mind waiting a few minutes?”

“Take your time. I’ll wait out here.”

Betty dragged Jughead back to the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

“I’m so sorry, Juggie,” she whispered, heading straight for her closet to find something else to wear. “I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into having dinner with dad.”

“It’s fine, Betts. But do you want me to be there? I’m not sure—“

“It’s not you! I mean—“ She wrung her hands, and Jughead wasn’t sure if she knew she was doing it. “Dad’s… he’s an odd man, Jug. He’s very—“ she paused to think of a word. “Formal. Businesslike. When I was growing up, I thought he didn’t like me. If I did something wrong, he wouldn’t yell at me for it, but his eyes would pass over me, like he couldn’t be bothered to notice I was there, but if I pleased him he would reward me with attention.”

Jughead thought about what she said. He couldn’t quite imagine what that must have been like for her, to fight for her father’s attention like fighting for a high grade in school or some facetime with the big boss. That must’ve been exhausting. “And now? What’s your relationship like?”

“Good enough,” she replied automatically. “Got easier as I learned more about what he liked and disapproved of. Over the years I did come to realize that his approval didn’t quite amount to his affection, but with mom being a constant storm, I learned to appreciate his more performance-based approach. Expectations have been managed. So long as I delivered positive results, I didn’t have to worry about him getting upset and reactive.”

He supposed the same could be said of everyone. Everybody wanted their parents’ approval, and Jughead wasn’t above seeking FP’s. God knows, he might have even wanted Gladys’s, but at least as he got older, he realized that FP would love him no matter what and that Gladys was toxic to his well-being. Having a parent that acted like a boss? That just sounded depressing, even for him.  “Does he do midyear reviews with you, too?”

She chuckled tiredly, slipping out of her jeans and shirt and putting on a rather attractive red dress. “I’m just saying—he’s not warm and easy going, like FP. Knowing the things you and I like to talk about, you’re in for a hell of an unbearable evening of Fortune 500 soundbites, and for that I’m sorry. I know you hate that stuff.”

He laughed. “Don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know I do, but I grew up with him like that. I know how to deal. You’re coming in cold.” She put on matching red shoes while also grabbing a pink coat.

He suddenly remembered that he should be getting dressed as well. He wasn’t sure what he should be wearing short of his suit, but Betty seemed unperturbed. “Keep your jeans but put on your black top and sherpa jacket. You’ll look great in it.”

Stifling a sigh, he changed his outfit.

 

*********************

 

At Twelve Madison Avenue, they were greeted warmly at the door and seated at one of the 16 tables. Hal, being a regular, was engaged in casual conversation with the host, but Jughead was astounded when he was first, welcomed back to Earth, then thanked for his service at the ESDC. Betty seemed less surprised when they started to refer to her history, casually.

When the host left, Hal started talking about people Jughead didn’t quite know, but probably should have heard about. Hal spoke of fundraisers and stock markets, business prospects and unusual investments.

Jughead wasn’t a complete dunce when it came to conversation he had zero interest in, but it was difficult to keep his mind alert when the subject was about fertilizers in the planet Ugba.

Betty _was_ better at it, knowing just enough terminology to keep her father going.

Hal seemed affable enough, even if Jughead noticed that he barely asked anything about Betty and how she was doing. He did divert attention to Jughead a couple of times, mostly to ask Jughead about sparsely populated planets and also about the Def Cor, but Hal was just as quick to circle the conversation back to himself.

Jughead was glad whenever one of the 11 courses of fancy food came out, because it felt like a break from the tedium of Hal’s conversation.

The only thing positive thing Jughead could think of about Hal was how proud he was of Betty. Hal made it clear that Betty going to an ivy league school, getting a Phd, and creating the Forever Engine for his company were crowning achievements, and that Jughead should understand how valuable that was.

“God, dad,” Betty gasped, clapping her hand on Jughead’s thigh beneath the table. She seemed exasperated and embarrassed. “Can you please just take it easy. Jughead knows all that already.” It was her first show of real emotion all night.

“I’m just pointing it out, sweetheart. You are a treasure to be kept safe.”

Jughead refrained from saying that she was actually a person who had amazing talents, not an “asset”, but Betty seemed embarrassed enough as it was.

When dessert finally rolled around, Jughead started counting the minutes.

The food had been divine, for sure. Jughead could appreciate haute cuisine just as well as any Park Avenue trust funder, but he was eager for the evening to be over, where he and Betty could just cuddle in bed, more if she felt like it, and decompress.

At the end of the 11 course meal, Hal didn’t even receive a bill. He probably had a tab, of sorts, and they simply got up to leave, giving proper goodbyes to the restaurant staff.

Outside in the city air, Jughead was acutely aware of the photographers in the distance. He pulled Betty into a protective embrace and he could feel her body sink into his, the breath of her sigh warm against his neck.

Hal eyed their closeness for a second before clearing his throat and speaking. “Elizabeth, I know your time here is limited, but I was hoping you’d be available for a couple of hours in the morning this week, just to come to the office and speak to some of our more invested stockholders.”

Jughead said nothing, feeling her shoulder tense.

“What for?” she asked.

Hal seemed all business now. “Some of our stockholders expressed concern that your sabbatical means you’ve left the company. The Forever Engine was a great success, you know, and they want to be assured that we still have you to come up with something similar in the coming year. I just need you to reassure them that when you return, you’ll be fresh and ready to work again.”

Jughead stared at Betty’s face, surprised by Hal’s words. He had been under the impression that her place in the ship was a bit more permanent than Hal implied. Working at the Wyrm wasn’t an internship, it was a new direction in her career that she had chosen to pursue.

From the look on her face, she was just as surprised as he was.

“Dad,” she began slowly. “You _do_ remember that I left you a resignation letter on your desk, right? I gave your assistant a copy of it, too. I don’t work for your company anymore.”

Hal waved her words away. “Of course I saw your resignation letter, but really, Elizabeth, that couldn’t have been _real.”_

Betty was squaring her shoulder now, her eyes bright with conviction. “Oh, it was totally real, dad. I left your company. I gave you that engine. I earned my leave.”

Hal’s face was turning red and a frown was settling on his bland features. “Obviously, you aren’t ready to remove yourself from your frolic in space, and that’s fine. I’ll give you more time, but I refuse to believe that you’re willing to throw away what I’ve given you—state of the art facilities for jet propulsion research, unlimited resources, the most brilliant scientific minds at your beck and call—it’s what you’ve always wanted! You have it and you’re not going to give all that up for some outdated spaceship—“

“Dad,” Betty said, firmly. “I am grateful for the opportunities you gave me. I am. I don’t think I could’ve done the things I did without your guidance and—and money, but what I do on the Whyte Wyrm has been far more fulfilling to me than anything I’ve ever done and I am _happy_. The happiest I’ve ever been.”

Jughead felt his heart swelling at her words.

“I am _not_ on a sabbatical,” she continued. “This is my life now. This is my career. It will be my career for the foreseeable future.”

“Is it the money? Did I not pay you enough?” Hal hissed, completely gone of his genteel veneer. “I’ll double your salary.”

Betty shook her head. “It had nothing to do with money.”

Hal’s furious gaze swerved to Jughead. “Is it about _him?_ Is he putting these fool thoughts in your head?”

Jughead grit his teeth and was about to speak when he felt Betty’s hand on his chest. She stepped forward. “Leave him out of this. This is not about Jughead. My relationship with him is apart from this, and if I choose to work for you again, we will make our relationship work even then. He would support me if I wanted to work for your company. It’s not about him. This is about me and what makes me happy. Working in the Wyrm is what I want to do. You need to respect that, dad.”

Hal was visibly trembling. “This is nonsense.”

Her jaw hardened and her eyes were like steel. “This is reality. I’m sorry, but I’m not showing up at your office. Telling your stockholders that I’m coming back would be a lie. I’m not coming back, dad, and whatever I’ve built from the time I left is no longer at your disposal.”

There were several seconds of silence, of Hal’s rage seeping from him like radiation. For a moment, Jughead was sure that Hal was going to lunge for his daughter, drag her into his transport, and jet her off to that stockholders’ meeting, but when Hal broke eye contact, he did none of those things.

He turned to the doors of his transport, his demeanor turning cold. “I’m going to let you sleep on this, Elizabeth. You’re tired and probably had a little too much wine.”

Jughead made a motion to speak, but Betty squeezed his hand.

“Leave it. It’s not worth it,” she said, softly.

The transport door closed and they watched the transport drive away.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the shutter of a camera.

She sighed. “Do you think the gossip magazines caught all that?”

He sighed, too, seeing the paparazzi lurking.  He chuckled, resigned. “That devolved real quick.”

She nodded.

Another photographer took a picture and a cowboy’s idea began to take root in his head.

He slipped his arms around her waist and stared into her upturned face. “How about we give them something else to talk about?”

The arching of her eyebrow transformed to a sultry smile. “Yes, please.”

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Really kissed her, with passion fit for a stage. She responded in kind, breathing him in and making soft sounds of encouragement.

He supposed there were better ways to handle this situation. They could’ve gone to Penny--that would have been the reasonable solution, but they always like doing things their own way. It wasn’t in their constitution to wait around for other people to do things for them.  And honestly, there were worse things than the whole world knowing that he was completely gone on Betty Cooper.

 

************************

 

**PEOPLE PERIODICAL**

**After Dinner, Dessert: Betty Cooper and Mystery Boyfriend Snack On One Another**

“They are comfortable with each other’s physicality,” Body Language experts say. Get the whole scoop on their Love Language.

 

*********************

 

**THE DAILY DISH**

**Who is Forsythe Pendleton “Jughead” Jones III?**

We have the deets on Betty Cooper’s new man. You’ll never believe what he does for a living!

 

*********************

 

**THE GALAXY**

**Slumming It**

Why Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones aren’t meant to last.

 

********************

 

**Betty “Juliet” Cooper and Jughead “Romeo” Jones**

@JettyForever

We stan space-traveling, star-crossed lovers.

 

Leave our babies alone!!!!!!

 

****************

 

Betty put her phone and comm on silent.         


	3. The Machine

 

 

Her bed was ultra soft, her body was warm, and her room smelled like berries and honeydew, thanks to the scent diffuser in the corner. Betty loved the comfort. She loved the heat. And yet, this was no longer as familiar to her as it used to be. The luxury was appreciated but this wasn’t home.

Home was a firmer bed. Home was the smell of metal with a hint of grease. Home was having that nip of cold getting through the barrier of Jughead’s warmth around her body.

This was nice but it wasn’t home.

She sighed, turning sluggishly in bed so she could bury her face in his chest and drape her leg over his hip. His arm adjusted, sliding lazily over her back and settling conveniently over the curve of her thigh.

She drifted back to sleep with a contented smile.

 

*********************

 

The filter of soft light through her curtains was one thing she missed in space. As beautiful as the stars were, waking up to the sunshine streaming through the papery, designer blinds of her window always put her in a good mood.

It was even better with Jughead close, the warmth of his body radiating and keeping her cosy. She could feel the tips of his fingers resting lightly against her ribs, and his leg had one of hers trapped beneath it.

She contemplated getting up to make coffee, but she was hesitant to feel that morning chill, of leaving her sheets and being naked in the nippy air, even for just a few seconds.

Getting up also meant the challenges of the day were on hand, that she may have to deal with the ridiculous headlines that have started to roll in.

In bed, she could pretend for a while that they didn’t exist, that nobody was hypothesizing about the demise of their relationship, or talking about why they would defy all odds, or the countless fictions about _how_ Jughead rearranged Archie’s face.

Oddly enough, however, the amount of Twipper vitriol against her and Jughead had miraculously dwindled. Betty suspected this was not a spontaneous phenomenon, but over the course of a few months, she knew that it was for everyone’s good that she didn’t ask questions.

Penny had called them last night, annoyed, but not particularly angry. She’d handled worse situations than a father and daughter disagreeing about running the family business. “Fortunately, that stuff is boring for most people, and since nobody got killed, your little PDA on the sidewalk will likely overpower the fact that your dad’s been glossing the truth over with the stockholders.”

Betty was impressed by Jughead’s fearless approach to a ravenous media, but she was wary that this was only the beginning.

She took comfort in the fact that they were strong, together. They can weather this asteroid field, too.

Again, she sighed at the prospect of leaving the warmth of her bed, but she definitely had to.

Pushing back the covers, she shifted to get up.

Jughead’s hands were suddenly pulling her back into bed, spooning her back against his chest.

She laughed as he buried his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his voice thick with drowsiness.

His hand smoothed gently over her stomach then slid between her breasts, cupping one breast and rubbing a nipple with his thumb.

The instant ache between her legs had her sighing against her pillow. “Staying right here, clearly.”

She could feel his lips smiling against the skin of her nape.

“That’s right. All day, if you like.” He bit gently at her lobe as his hand slid lower along the front of her body. He slipped his fingers between her wet folds, dipping lazily into her while the soft pressure of his thumb on her clit made her moan.

She craned her neck so that their lips could clamp unto each other, tongues tangling in the building heat of their bodies.

She sighed as his hand coaxed her legs apart, and when she arched her back to help him, she felt him slide inside her.

Her soft mewl of pleasure was drowned out by his loud groan. When he moved inside her, she tilted her head so that his lips had access to the side of her neck, sucking and biting the way she wanted him too.

His fingers were never idle, pressing pleasurable patterns over her clit.

Turning her head to catch his ear between her teeth was difficult, even reaching behind her with her arm for support, but the joining of their bodies in this position felt so incredibly good that it was hard to care about the details.

They were moving to a rhythm that was fast bringing her to peak and her moans were getting louder. He began, however, to slow down.

Maybe he wanted to draw this out.

She was having none of it. She was so blessedly close. “Oh, God, Juggie, please don’t stop...please, please don’t stop.”

A soft, inexplicable growl of effort rumbled in this throat, but the thrust of his hips picked up in its intensity and his fingers rubbed more frantically.

She was cresting and when she finally let go, she shattered with his name loud on her lips. The snap of his hips rocked her in her orgasm, the groans and praises falling from his own lips mixing with their combined ecstasy.

When the movements of their bodies waned and they settled in the sheets, catching their breaths, Betty pulled away from him, only to turn over and capture his lips with hers.

They made out languidly as they came down lazily from their high, and when their breathing had evened, they looked at one another in comfortable, post-sex silence.

“Good morning,” she finally said, grinning gently.

“Everyday,” he said, softly. “I can wake up like this everyday.”

She had no reason whatsoever to contradict that. She pecked a kiss on his lips and made a motion to leave the bed.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” he whined.

She laughed, softly. “It’s late morning, Jug. Don’t you want to spend the day out and about in New York?”

“I forget you’re a morning person in the dark reaches of space…” he grumbled.

She laughed again. She was giddy with this domesticity. “Want some coffee?” she asked, finding his plaid on the floor and scooping it up. She slipped into it, cold as of yet, but the material quickly absorbed her heat.

He grinned, amused, perhaps, by her struggles with the long sleeves. She finished buttoning the garment and found her panties at the foot of the bed. She slipped them on.

She smirked. “Are you just going to watch me put my clothes on or are you going to answer my question?” she teased, picking his beanie up from the side table.

“Oh, they’re _your_ clothes, are they?”

She nodded, unable to resist hopping back onto bed and straddling him. She jammed the beanie onto her messy hair.

He chuckled, his hands planting themselves gently on her hips.

“These are mine,” she said, burying her nose in the sleeve of his plaid. “It smells like its mine.”

There was nothing but adoration in his gaze, like the tiny smile on his lips carried all the happy memories they’ve shared. “I love you.”

It still took her breath away, how she could be playful and at her giddiest, and then be told by him in that intensely meaningful tone that he loved her.

She leaned over and kissed him.

“Also, you should just wear my clothes,” he murmured against her lips. “Like from now on.”

She giggled and slid off him.

“Why do you keep leaving?” he groaned, making a futile attempt to grab her.

“Because the coffee isn’t going to make itself!”

That wasn’t entirely true. She could ask Cedonia to make the coffee for them and it would taste just as good if not better, but she had something she needed to do and for the most part, given his confessions from the previous evening, she wanted to be sensitive—she didn’t want him to watch her taking the pill.

She wasn’t ready to have kids yet. Or at least, she was still thinking about it, and she didn’t want to feel hurried about her thoughts on this, either. If she were to consider having kids, she wanted to take her time. She might decide to want to have kids next week, for all she knew, but she wanted the choice.

He grumbled a _fine_ and she giggled as she left the bedroom, her sleight of hand grabbing the morning-after pill from the top of her dresser drawers.

As she padded across her living room to her kitchen, she marveled at the view from her floor to ceiling windows. New York was as breathtaking as it ever was. Still the greatest city on Earth, still one of the most visited cities of the galaxy. Its appeal was enduring and timeless. It was where she grew up in the most privileged way. And yet it paled in comparison to the swell in her heart, the attachment and the happiness she felt living with her cowboys in space.

She set the pill on the counter, staring at it as she made the coffee.

Making babies was as primal as the dawn of man. Sure, technology had advanced well enough that cells could be encouraged to combine in a petri dish, and methods had been developed for couples, hetero or same-sex, to have biological children outside of conventional reproductive means. Baby making had come a long way for couples who would have found it impossible to reproduce the traditional way, and for those who can carry and give birth, delivery had become easy, almost painless. Maternity mortality rates have dramatically dropped, and healthier babies were being born at astounding rates over the last hundred years more than ever before.

There were no biological concerns for her at the moment. And given her station in life, an educated, employed, and privileged white woman in her twenties, the impact of a pregnancy and raising children to her engineering career would be minimal.

Her bounty hunting and space travel career, however…

She had no reference for that. She needed to do research, and she already knew that there would be—

_Discussions_

—in the way of what she can or shouldn’t do while pregnant, regardless of the data. Knowing Jughead and maybe even FP, they weren’t going to let her bounty hunt while pregnant. It would be challenging but she was confident that they’d be able to weather it. She had facts on her side. There would be a point when she _shouldn’t_ , but while that point hadn’t been crossed, she would pull her weight in bounty hunting.

Then of course, there was the matter of taking care of a baby in space. It seemed so daunting, to be responsible for the health, well-being, and raising of a child. She had such a complicated, strained relationship with her own parents and a small part of her was afraid that she would have the same kind of relationship with her own kid.

_Of course it would be different._

It had to be. _She_ was different from her parents. _Jughead_ was definitely a far better man than her father was, and FP, sober, had his own strengths as a parent figure.

She almost giggled at the thought of Jellybean taking care of children.

It warmed her heart to think that if she did decide to have children, the raising of them would be a entire family affair.

 _God._ She loved her Joneses.

She put on some toast and cracked open a couple of eggs. They may still head out for a late breakfast, but Jughead would eat three breakfastses if there was food to be had.

As she cooked the eggs sunny side up, she stared at the morning-after pill on her counter.

She didn’t know why she didn’t just take it. If she decided tomorrow that she wanted a baby, all she had to basically do was take her clothes off and let Jughead have his way with her. It wasn’t that complicated.

The bedroom door opened and Jughead shambled out in his cargos. He was still shrugging on his tank. “I smell food.”

Betty quickly swiped the pill into a kitchen drawer. “I made eggs and toast! Just to start off the day. We can go to my favorite breakfast place after this, just an avenue east then one block down. It’ll be a nice walk. We can invite FP and JB since we missed them last night.”

He smiled and joined her in the kitchen, pouring himself a mug of coffee then leaning back against the counter. “Sounds nice. Mama Cooper paying for this one again?”

She laughed. “No. We’ll take this one. It’s fancier than a diner, but not one of the overpriced places my parents frequent. FP and JB will like it, and then maybe we can bring them downtown. JB may want to go shopping…”

He was grinning and pulling her close, setting his coffee aside so he could wrap both arms around her waist. “You know, we don’t have to have them around. We’ve been with them the last eight months…”

She kissed him and smiled, thinking that they’d been on the Wyrm for that long and it hadn’t felt like it at all. And yet it felt like she’d known Jughead for longer than that. Like they’d known each other for ages.

“I don’t want them to think I’m ditching them,” she whispered.

He tugged the beanie playfully. “Let’s have breakfast with them, _then_ we ditch them. How about that?”

“Why, Jughead. It almost sounds as if you want me all to yourself.”

“That’s right, Cooper. You’re all mine. Not sharing you with _anyone.”_ He buried his face in her neck, grazing his teeth on her skin.

It tickled and she laughed at the fact that his hand was sneaking beneath the edge of his plaid.

Cedonia beeped and came to life. “Polly is on the line. Would you like to speak to her?”

Betty took Jughead’s hand and tossed him a mildly scolding look. “Even _you_ can’t recover that quickly.”

He grinned. “Challenge accepted.”

She had to fight valiantly against the thrill of wanting to find out if he was serious.

“Shall I tell Polly to leave a message?” Cedonia asked.

_Honestly, Betty. That’s your sister._

She supposed Alice’s voice hadn’t gone completely silent in her head.

Sighing, she told Cedonia to patch Polly through.

Polly’s face popped up on the monitor. She looked perfect, down to her light makeup, shiny straight hair, and the silk headband holding it all back, but there was the tiniest knot on her brow and Betty could hear the twins fussing. “Good morning, Betty!”

Sometimes Betty wished Polly would do away with the niceties. “Everything okay, Polly?”

“Oh, everything's fine!”

Betty winced. There was a slight strain to her voice.

Polly went on in her chipper way. “It’s just that the twins have been needy this morning and being the babies they are. No big deal!”

Even Jughead seemed to notice, judging by the crinkle between his brows. “You sure?”

Polly nodded. “Absolutely! I do need your help, though.”

“Do you need us to go over there?” Betty asked.

“Oh, no. No, we’re fine. It’s just—I need you to do something for me. Chic is getting out of rehab a little after noon today and usually—usually I pick him up.”

Betty knew what she needed before Polly could ask. “I can go get him, Pol. He’s my brother, too.”

Polly looked relieved. “I hate to ask this of you while you’re visiting, but mom and dad—well, you know. They’ll probably drive him right back in there.” She turned a bright red right after she said it, her eyes darting to Jughead. “Sorry, that was inglorious—“

“Polly,” Betty cut her off before she could finish. She couldn’t bear to hear Polly apologize for something she didn’t have to apologize for. “I know.”

“Right. Not that Chic didn’t bring this upon himself. You and I managed to keep our noses out of cocaine. Why couldn’t he?”

Betty pursed her lips. She didn’t disagree, but Chic’s fight just looked different than theirs, that’s all. They were all trying to get past their personal demons. “I’ll go get him. Send me the address.”

“Thank you, Betty. I really appreciate it.”

They said their goodbyes, and when the projected screen disappeared and Cedonia had settled back on its mount, Betty sighed and cast Jughead a rueful look.

“I’m sorry.”

His hand on her shoulder was comforting. “Don’t be. You’re here for Polly, remember? Need company?”

“I don’t, really. But…” She wasn’t sure if she wanted Jughead to meet her brother that way, then again, fresh out of rehab was probably the best they were going to get out of Chic in a while.

“I’ll go with you,” Jughead said.

She didn’t decline. She was grateful for Jughead’s strong presence in all this.

As her phone dinged with the information Polly promised her, Betty couldn’t believe that this was only Day Two.

 

********************

 

After brunch with the Joneses, Betty and Jughead picked up a transport from Polly’s garage for their drive to Chic.

“I usually pick him up without a driver,” Polly explained. “This is family business, so I drive myself.”

Betty could only imagine what sort of past experience drove Polly to eschew a driver when picking Chic up from rehab.

Betty insisted on taking the driver’s seat, hoping that it would calm her thoughts and give Jughead a chance to enjoy the upstate New York scenery.

The modernized farmland, glorious in its crops and fascinating with its robotic field workers was an attraction in itself. No two fields looked the same.

Along the way, JB called, telling her brother that a bunch of nosy reporters were poking around online for information about Jughead and the rest of them.

“Can you block their searches?” Jughead asked.

JB scoffed. “Child’s play. Booby trapped a couple of things, too, just to make it more interesting.”

Betty already figured that Jellybean was responsible for controlling the online traffic about them and it was a huge relief, even if Betty thought they shouldn’t be encouraging Jellybean to break the law, which was technically what she was doing.

“Also,” JB added, “I didn’t want to tell you this morning because I didn’t want to throw up my breakfast, but Dad and Betty’s mom have been texting. I don’t want to know _what_ the fuck is going on there.”

Betty and Jughead groaned at the same time.

At the end of the call, Betty exchanged uneasy looks with Jughead.

“They wouldn’t, right?” Betty asked. “Mom wouldn’t, I think. She drove him away screaming the last time. Do you know what kind of history they had?”

Jughead ran his hand down his face. “Barely. Dad gave me the impression that it wasn’t a good one, but I don’t think dad would be looking for anything… long term.”

Betty did not feel like exploring the topic, lest she conjure images in her head that she’d rather not have. If she had to, she can sic Penny on her mother. Penny would surely blow a gasket if she had to add Covering Up Infidelity to her To Do list.

Mercifully, Veronica called and offered a proper distraction, telling Betty that their friends were dying to see her again and were intrigued to meet Jughead.

“Kevin’s arranged a PopUp dinner for us all later at the Culinary Institute in SoHo. It’ll be perfect for catching up.”

Jughead looked only mildly resigned, possibly appeased by the prospect of good food. It was the only thing that would ever make him give up chilling with her at home.

Veronica’s chatter took them all the way to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy, an old facility that accepted the troubled youths of New York’s rich and ridiculous.

The nuns that once ran the place had been replaced with a more modern, secular staff of professionals who swore by organic produce, pescetarian diets, active wholistic therapy, and endless group sessions.

The lady that met them at the reception area addressed them with formal efficiency, but she did show appropriate care for the welfare of their wealthy patients.

As Betty watched her brother, Chic, walk towards them, she couldn’t help but sigh and roll her eyes.

He had certainly lost weight since the last time she saw him, but he did appear to have a healthier glow. Then again, his ghastly pallor and addiction-induced shakes the last time they had to check him in here was an absolute record low point. Anything would’ve looked better than that.

He strutted down the hallway like a model, his rumpled, but no doubt expensive clothing made him look more like a well-rested frat boy after a drunken night, as opposed to a recovering addict.

No remorse tempered the glint in his eyes. He was grinning, though in fairness, he seemed pleased to see her.

“Oh, my God, it’s my favorite baby sister,” he drawled, arms wide open to take her in an embrace.

She shook her head in mild disapproval even as she stepped into his arms and hugged him. It felt like hugging nothing, he was so thin. And all she could do not to cry was tell him, “Don’t be unkind, Chic. Polly’s the one who always comes to pick you up and spare you from our parents.”

A chuckle rumbled through his bones. “Oh, she never makes me forget it, believe me. And who’s this?”

Betty stepped away, though she kept her hand on Chic’s shoulder. “Chic, this is Jughead Jones. I fly with him on the trans-galactic ship, the Whyte Wyrm, and he’s my boyfriend.”

Chic’s eyebrow quirked good humoredly as he shook Jughead’s hand. She realized that it was possible no one told him about her separation from Archie. He may have been too high in rehab. The SOQM also didn’t let patients have devices, more for their own good than anything else.

The last time she was in New York, it had been his third stint in rehab. This one had to be his fourth. Possibly fifth.

“Nice to meet you, Jughead,” Chic said. “Insert obligatory Big Brother to Boyfriend Threats Here.”

Betty frowned. “Chic.”

The corner of Jughead’s lip twitched, a hint of amusement making itself known. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Clearly I’m making a great first impression,” said Chic, shrugging on his jacket and flashing a self-deprecating smile. “Don’t let my stellar reputation intimidate you.”

Betty rolled her eyes. She worried about Chic all the time, but whenever they got to talking, he sounded so easy going, even unbothered by the seriousness of his addiction. It was a privilege, she knew, that could only be had from living off rich parents who thought throwing money at things was solving the issue.

She wished he wouldn’t act so cavalier. She hope that the last couple of rehabs, at least, made him more serious about getting better. He may not have the privilege of rehab next time. There was no rich or poor when one ODed for good.

“Chic,” she said, more softly this time.

He ignored the concern in her tone, taking out a pair of dark glasses and putting them on as they stepped out of the facility. “Can you drop me off at my friend’s house? I don’t think I should be near Polly’s babies, honestly.”

Betty could feel her own scowl deepening. “No, we’re not dropping you off a friend’s house. We’re going to Polly’s for now where we can figure out your situation. I think she might bring you to her farm, honestly.”

Chic groaned. “Oh, my God.”

“You can’t be left alone and Polly has babies to look after. I won’t drop you off at mom and dad’s place because they are probably not the best for you right now. The farm is kooky but at least they’re not smoking their organic produce.”

Chic took out a cigarette and lit it. “Can’t I just fly off with you and Jughead on the White Wine?”

“Whyte Wyrm. And we only take people who are actually willing to work. If you’re just going to lie around being cool and rich, you’ll need to pay your way.”

Chic was probably about to say that was a great idea before she interrupted him.

“I know you, Chic. You’ll be bored out of your mind. I’ll wake up one day and you’ll be gone—jumped ship.”

He sighed and leaned against the transport. “Fair.”

“You need to be where your sponsor can reach you,” she said. “You _do_ have one, don’t you?”

This time, Chic looked a bit more pensive. “I do.”

That gave Betty some measure of relief.  At least he wasn’t making jokes about that.

“Let me drive,” Jughead offered after a brief silence.

Betty cast him an appreciative smile as she handed him the FOB key and they all began to get into the transport.

Chic smoked what he can of his cigarette before disposing of it and sliding into the back seat. “So what is it that you do on this ship, exactly, sis? What’s so great about it? I mean, other than the fact that it’s away from our parents.”

Betty didn’t even know how to begin answering that question.

***************************

Chic was a grim man.

Not that he was obviously so. He often hid it behind bitingly self-deprecating jokes, bouts of surprising self-awareness, and what Jughead thought may be actual affection for _both_ his sisters, even if it seemed he was softer on Betty than he was on Polly.

His anger, if any, was directed at their parents, and Jughead was under the impression that out of all the siblings, Chic was the one who was unapologetic about calling their parents outright assholes, even if he seemed to think a little better about Alice.

And amidst this soup of narrative sarcasm, he revealed that he’d actually managed to get sober for about 90 days before falling off the wagon again.

Betty said nothing, but Jughead could tell by the look in her eyes that she wondered. She was asking, _Why? Why give up when you already got there?_

Jughead had lived with addiction in his household so he knew that it didn’t have end goals. It was an endless journey marked by milestones—a lifelong struggle to convince oneself that being sober was always better than the alternative, and that was tough when sobriety made you see the full picture of what was fucked up and how impossible it seemed to make things right. It was easier to get lost on a high than it was to face problems head on, and there lied the struggle.

He wasn’t sure exactly what drove Chic to addiction. Chic and FP’s demons, no doubt, had different faces, but it took FP a little over ten years to gain ground. He can only imagine that Chic would have a similar climb ahead.

“Uh oh,” Chic said, grinning ruefully. “I can _feel_ the disappointment radiating off Betty.”

“What I think doesn’t matter,” Betty said, quietly. “You just need to get better for yourself.”

“You’re probably right.”

Jughead could tell by the tone of Chic’s voice that he didn’t quite believe that, himself.

Chic sighed. “I’ve already done 90 days. I can do it again and maybe it’ll stick this time.”

Betty turned in her seat and looked him straight in the eyes. “You need to remove yourself from what keeps pulling you back in.  Space won’t work for you, because I know you need to be around people, but there are places in this world that you can get away from _this_ and still have the benefit of human interaction. You just have to do it.”

At this, Chic laughed. “I’m not like you, sis. I can’t just give up fortune and luxury to find myself. I can’t live in a place with only one bathroom that I have to share with four other people. I have no useful skills that can make me an asset to a team. I’m a bit of a coward and my idea of an adventure is tossing back half a dozen shot glasses of tequila at once.”

“No one expects you to do what I did, but you can find your own way.”

His eyebrow arched. “Like how Polly found her cult?”

“It’s better than going back to whatever toxic environment that led you to your addiction, isn’t it?”

Betty, Polly, and Chic.

Cowboys, Cults, and Cocaine, respectively.

Coopers on different but parallel paths.

Jughead could only be glad that Betty chose the road less traveled.

 

************

 

They dropped off Chic at Polly’s apartment, but before they left, Betty spent a bit more time with Polly and the babies, talking in the kitchen with a baby each.

Chic flashed his packet of cigarettes at Jughead, a question in his eyes, and Jughead nodded, following Chic out to the penthouse patio.  

The patio had richly appointed outdoor furniture, arranged like an elegant exterior lounge.  There was a mechanical overhang that could be unfurled at a touch of a button.

There were seats along the railing, as well, but Chic preferred to stand while he smoked. Jughead stood with him, taking the offered cigarette and light.

As Chic lit his own cigarette, he tilted a grin at Jughead.

“Just wanted to thank you for driving out with Betty to pick me up,” Chic said, letting his gaze sweep the city below.  “You didn’t have to.”

“It wasn’t a chore. I wanted to keep Betty company.”

“Decent of you.  I assume that you’ve met our parents.”

Jughead had many thoughts about Alice and Hal Cooper, but he would prefer to keep it mostly to himself. Betty knew what her parents were. She didn’t need him to say anything more about it. “Yeah.”

Chic snorted. “Were they nasty to you?”

Jughead actually thought they were tame towards him compared to how they treated Betty.  He imagined that given a few more days, it was going to dawn on them that their daughter was serious about dating the roughneck cowboy and _really_ start to get on his case.  In the meantime, they probably considered him more a passing fancy.  

He took a drag of his cigarette and blew out the smoke. “Not yet.”

“Yeah. It’ll come. You’re not out of the woods yet. Are you, like, serious about my sister?”

“Very,” Jughead replied, without hesitating. Chic didn’t look like the kind of guy who would try to scare his sister’s boyfriend off, but then again, he’d only known Chic for a couple of hours. What did he know?

Chic neither seemed surprised or displeased. He just seemed like a person who took things in stride. “I knew Betty would find her own way. She was always the strongest one. For a while there, I thought she was going to get sucked into—well, you’ve met our parents, but I knew that if she did, she’d wake up one day and realize she didn’t have to put up with this shit and she’d know what she had to do.”

Jughead knew exactly what Chic meant and Jughead was grateful for the choices Betty made.

“Mom is pretty fierce and scary,” Chic went on. “If she hates you, she will come for you and probably gouge your eyes out with her bare hands, but she grew up poor and she respects hard workers. She might try to exert control, but she does it because she cares, in her own strange way, about her children’s future. You might even say she likes to think she fights fair. You push back on mom, she’ll back off and try again later, so she never quite escalates. In my experience, it’s dad you have to watch out for. Dad has no problem being shady if he doesn’t get his way, and Betty—well, Betty’s his prized daughter, so to speak. He won’t let someone like you—“

Jughead arched an eyebrow. “Someone like me?”

“Bounty hunter. Space traveler. Outside of his influence. Not a douchebag banker. I can go on.”

“I get it.”

Chic cocked a smile. “He won’t let you take her. He won’t let you win.”

“I’m not taking Betty. She likes being on the Wyrm. She’s happy doing what she does.”

Chic shrugged. “Dad will never see it that way. Just be prepared. He’s ruthless. If you want my real opinion, I think he’s psychopathic, but that’s just me. I’m glad Betty’s taken herself away from him. You have to keep her away from him. Got that, Jughead?”

Something kicked in Jughead’s gut when Chic said that. Like his instinct to protect suddenly going on overdrive, but in a couple of heartbeats, reason began to wave at him from beyond the panic.

Chic was fresh out of rehab. He’s an addict. While he was, at the moment, sober, how much of his words were the remnants of his cocaine thoughts?

Then again, even Betty had felt it, hadn’t she? Even _she_ struggled to explain to him how _unusual_ Hal Cooper was. This was a red flag, if anything.

Chic must have detected his doubt, because that self-deprecating smirk resurfaced. “I get that I’ve taken one-too-many snorts of cocaine to have any credibility Jones, but you gotta remember--I’m the eldest. There was a time I wasn’t high on anything and I noticed things I was too young to understand. Now that I’m older, I kinda look back and realized dad was a little...”

Jughead swallowed. “Odd?”

Chic paused. “Yeah. You can say that. _Especially_ when it came to Betty.”

Dread churned in Jughead’s gut.

The patio door slid open and Polly’s head popped out. “If you two gentlemen are done inhaling lung cancer, the scones and tea are ready.”

“It’s everything I’ve been looking forward to since I wobbled out of rehab, Pol.”

She frowned. “Shut up, Chic.” She disappeared back into the apartment and slid the door closed.

A small laughed bubbled from Chic’s chest. “Polly… any chance she told Betty yet who the father of her kids are?”

Jughead shrugged. “Hasn’t come up.”

“Eh. She’ll tell us when she’s ready, I suppose.”

Chic headed back inside and Jughead followed.

 

*********************

 

They weren’t in an actual restaurant. They were in a Pop Up restaurant, commonly hosted by chefs for their friends and perhaps a couple of experts in the industry. The converted factory turned testing kitchen was tastefully rearranged for the evening’s activities.   

Instead of several small tables, guests were expected to sit around a u-shaped kitchen counter, with Kevin Keller, the head chef for the evening, playing ringmaster in the middle.

As Jughead walked into the facility with Betty on his arm, he looked around the room of twenty-something elites.  They were all a far cry from his more rough and tumble cowboy friends. Even recalling Sweet Pea and Fangs wearing similar looking suits in Pop’s, there was no mistaking the more refined conversation and movements of New York’s upper crust youth.  

“There’s Kevin,” Betty said, nodding in the direction of the counter where Kevin was leaning over to peck a kiss on the lips of a handsome young man with a crew cut and broad shoulders.  “And that’s his boyfriend, Moose Mason. Kevin’s father is Police Commissioner for New York and Moose’s dad is Major General in the ESDC.”

Jughead was familiar with Earth politics. He understood the kind of clout a police commissioner had, and he also knew the Major General of the ESDC, at least by name. “His father’s Jerry Mason?”

“Yes, you know him?”

“Only by name,” Jughead replied. “His dad has a reputation for being pretty hardcore.”

“I can imagine. Kevin tells me Moose isn’t out to his family yet.  Said his father would probably beat him straight.”

Jughead sighed. The Earth Space Defense Corps was no different from its more Earth-bound counterparts’ ambiguous--at best--treatment of its LGBTQ troops. Until now, there was no telling how superior officers directed the LGBTQ culture in its ranks. Jughead had tried to foster a more accepting culture in his own flight, with Joaquin and Toni being gay and bi, respectively, but it was difficult to spread his influence when he was only captain.  He couldn’t control how other captains ran their flights. “And Kevin? With his dad being the Police Commissioner?”

“Comish Keller is great. Kevin didn’t have to worry about a thing coming out to him.”

Jughead was glad to hear it.

Veronica waved and approached them with two other people in tow. Jughead was immediately introduced to Josie McCoy, of Pussycats fame, and Reggie Mantle, an extremely fit man who, appropriately, owned several exclusive fitness gyms across the city.  

“So you’re the reason I lost my rock climbing buddy,” Reggie said, shaking Jughead’s hand.

Jughead didn’t think he was. At all. “I just flew the ship, dude. She got in it herself.”

Betty cast him a smile and kissed him affectionately.

When they sat down to dinner, Veronica’s eyes moved to the door several times, and when they finally lit up, Jughead’s eyebrow arched at the sight of Toni Topaz.

Veronica hurried to meet her with a kiss, pulling her along by the hands.

“Hey cap,” Toni said, saluting him.

Jughead chuckled and held out to shake her hand. “Hey, yourself. So has this been a… thing?” He flashed all three women a questioning look.

“Dinner’s about to start,” Veronica said in what Jughead felt was a distraction from his question.

They sat themselves along the kitchen counter stools and as Jughead settled in, he shot Betty a pointed look and leaned over her ear. “So how long has that been going on?”

Betty chuckled under her breath. “Oh, it’s been on and off. A little complicated, you might say. Has Toni told you nothing? You’re her captain, aren’t you?”

Jughead scoffed. “In the ESDC, not in life. I have no say in the private lives of my pilots. And honestly, it’s no big deal. It’s just interesting. You uptown girls seem to like cowboys.”

Betty slipped her hand under his coat and he grinned when he saw the pout on her face.

“Looking for a gun? Didn’t think I’d need it for dinner.”

She tilted her chin up and grazed her lips against his. “I guess you wouldn’t. Is New York City making you complacent?”

He chuckled. “Maybe. Around here, there are other things to think about.”

She paused, but before she could say anything more about it, dinner began, and it was delicious, filling fare with a haute cuisine twist.

Jughead found himself engaged in interesting conversation with Josie, Reggie, and Kevin, with not a single person mentioning stocks or hedge funds. They were certainly a more privileged group of young adults, but they all seemed to work hard for their due, which Jughead respected.  

Josie mentioned wanting to perform for the vets at Pop’s, and Reggie had a lot of questions about the physical training the ESDC put their troops through. Kevin went out of his way to talk to him, and when he turned to Toni, they spoke like old friends, which made Jughead think that Toni’s been around Veronica’s restaurant more times than she was willing to admit.

The food was delicious, and Jughead was glad to meet Betty’s friends, knowing that she associated with good people who had a lot going for them, on their own.

After the last plates were taken away, Kevin bowed to a round of applause, and Jughead marveled at the fact that he was intermingled in a crowd like _this._ He caught Toni’s eye and she winked, probably thinking the same thing.

As they prepared to head out for after-dinner drinks, Moose Mason approached Betty.

“Dad sends his regards, Betty,” Moose said, his voice low and a little secretive. The bustle of putting on jackets gave them a moment of privacy. “He said he’s looking forward to what you and your dad’s company has in store for the ESDC commission, what with that amazing Forever Engine and all, and--let’s be honest--you’re the brains behind _that_ operation.”

Betty exchanged uneasy looks with Jughead before turning to Moose. She kept her voice equally low. “Ummm, yes, well, I’m sure daddy and his engineers have been working hard at it and has some great ideas.”

Moose’s eyebrows crinkled together. “You’re not included in the project?”

“Er, no. I mean, I don’t even work for the company anymore.”

Moose made a face. “Seriously?  What are you now, then? A consultant, maybe?”

She shook her head. “Not even that. I resigned months ago, Moose. I don’t know what my dad told your dad, but…”

Moose’s eyebrows weren’t going down at all. “Wow. Okay, well, that’s interesting. Wow.” He moved away, shrugging on his own jacket with a troubled expression on his face.

Betty sighed as she watched Moose move away. “Jug, did I just get my dad’s company in trouble with the ESDC?”

Jughead bit his lip and observed Moose excusing himself from Kevin. “I don’t know, babe. I mean, what were you supposed to tell him?  It’s the truth. You don’t work for your dad’s company anymore.”

He helped her into her coat and as he gently freed her hair from her coat collar, he noted the troubled look in her eyes. He squeezed her shoulders. “Betts, it’s not your fault your dad wasn’t transparent about your resignation.”

She smiled up at him rather weakly. “I know, but I could’ve been a little dodgier? I don’t know.”

“It was also the ESDC’s responsibility to do their own due diligence,” Jughead continued. “If they’re giving contracts based on influence and not merit, that’s on them.”

“Come on, guys!” Veronica said, slipping her arm around Toni’s waist. “I want to go dancing! I’m also on a mission to get you all wasted, so let’s hurry this along!”

Jughead squeezed Betty’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it, Betts.”

Nodding, she wrapped her arm around his.  “I won’t. You still got those dancing moves, Jones?”

“Always. Let’s go.”

 

****************************

 

Betty did not get wasted, but she did ingest enough alcohol to flush her cheeks and make her a little bolder on the dance floor. She could tell by the way Jughead kept his hands plastered to her body that he didn’t mind her grinding against him in the least.

She noticed that he nursed one drink the entire night, which she knew was a decision tied to his father’s own alcoholism. She respected that and was intent on rewarding his self-discipline when they got back to her place.  

She was happy to see that he genuinely seemed to be enjoying himself, at dinner and here in the club, and not just because she was with him, but because her friends were engaging him.  Toni hardly even factored in, since she and Veronica had been lost in one another for most of the night. She had wanted Jughead to feel comfortable with her friends, too, in the same way he had made her feel comfortable with his.  

At around one o’clock in the morning, while locked in a heated battle of tongues with Jughead in one of the many club alcoves, they decided to head back to her apartment.  

They were barely through the door when Jughead started taking her clothes off. Garments were dropped haphazardly across the floor as they made their way to her bedroom.

When Jughead didn’t stop them at her bed and pulled her into her walk-in closet, her desire flared into a bonfire. The mirrors lining the walls would provide the perfect view for every single thing they were doing to one another.

The large ottoman couch at the center of the room provided the perfect surface for their mostly wicked intentions.

Betty had never been so turned on in her life. Watching them do the things they did in front of a mirror, at various angles, fired her desire. She had scoffed at porn, but now she watched them move against each other, loving every visual stroke and thrust.

She couldn’t count the number of times she came. When he finally let go, his long, drawn out groan reverberated through her body. They lay on the ottoman, catching their breath for several minutes before Jughead rolled off her and exhaustedly suggested that they transfer to her bed.

They did eventually slip beneath the covers of her bed and dozed off together in each other’s arms.

Hours later, Betty woke up thirsty, so she rose from bed to get a drink of water. As she stood filling her glass, she remembered the pill in the drawer.  

She thought about her life as it was now, how happy she was and how freeing it was to be unbound by her parents’ expectations and the dictates of the society she had grown up with.  

She was living on her own, traveling in space, making plans, all the while being loved by a wonderful man who admired her, mind, body, and soul.

Children can wait.

She took the pill and when she slipped back beneath the covers, she drifted back to sleep enveloped in his strong, loving arms.

 

*****************

 

Jughead woke up to the dinging of his tag.  It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was enough to make him stir and Betty to complain with soft moans.

He hushed her gently, whispering for her to go back to sleep as he turned over and checked his tag. The ID flashing on his screen wasn’t a number he recognized immediately. He blinked through the haze of his sleep and contemplated ignoring it all together, but when he realized that the number started with the ESDC designations, he scrambled to take the summons.

“Captain,” came the voice from the other end of the line. “Did I wake you? It’s almost ten in the morning.”

Jughead knew that voice and he had to bite his lip to keep from cursing. “S-Sir, yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. Um, I’m up.” He shut his mouth to keep from rambling any further. “Major Weatherbee. I didn’t expect your call.”

“And I didn’t expect an envelope with your name on it plopping on my desk, so here we are.”

Jughead swallowed. Had word of his internet gossip magazine fame reached the offices of the ESDC? He hoped not, because one, it would be mortifying, and two, he didn’t want the ESDC to care in the least. He thought them above these things and he wanted to prove Penny Peabody wrong.   “I’m sorry, sir.”

Major Weatherbee gave a grunt. “Never apologize, captain. These pictures you sent are compelling.”

Pictures?  

_What pictures?_

“I realize by the date stamp on these photos that you must’ve sent them months ago.”

And Jughead remembered. The photographs were from Oberlin Major, the ones he took of the military grade satellite sitting atop the gift shop in the middle of nowhere in the 4th Quadrant.  He had forgotten about them as he hadn’t heard back from the ESDC for so long.

Then again, he had sent the photos by intergalactic courier, afraid that a digital delivery could be traced.  He was sure delivery wouldn’t take more than a couple of weeks, but he supposed it could’ve sat in the ESDC offices for months on end.  That it had only reached his commanding officer now was just proof of the kind of red tape lower officers had to weave through.

“Yes, sir,” Jughead replied. “I didn’t want to send those photos electronically. I was afraid that the wrong people could intercept them.”

“Prudent. Wise. ESDC intelligence is interested in the data you have. Are you amenable to coming in for a debrief?”

Jughead wasn’t quite sure what was going on. “When, sir?”

“Today, at 13 hundred hours, Pickens ESDC Base.”

Jughead frowned. “In upstate?”

“Is that a problem for you, captain? I heard you were in town so I thought this the perfect opportunity to call you in, otherwise I would’ve just commed with you.”

“N-No. Of course it’s not a problem. I’ll fly right in.”

“Good. Wear your uniform, Jones. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re still on reserve.”

The line was cut and Jughead gave a heavy sigh.  If he wanted to make it there by one, he had to to leave soon for the Wyrm, where he kept his uniform and where he could take the Hitchcock out to upstate New York.

“Juggie.”

He looked over his shoulder at Betty who was blinking sleepily from her side of the bed. Cocking a smile, he slid back into the sheets to pull her close. “Did I wake you up?”

“You sounded upset,” she murmured drowsily. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, smoothing some of the hair that had fallen in her face. “I’m good. I just found out that I have something I need to do today.  It might be dinner by the time I get back.”

She frowned. “Where are you going?”

“Just upstate, to the ESDC base. I got a call from my commanding officer.”

The sleep seemed to leave her eyes and she pushed herself up by her elbow. “Is it because of you being in the gossip mags?”

He chuckled. “No, it’s not about that.”

That only seemed to deepen her frown. “Are you being called back to duty?”

She looked so worried that his immediate instinct was to soothe her. “No. Nothing like that. They just have some questions for me about a report I sent them months ago.  It’s just a debrief. More red tape. No big deal.”

The look she gave him was fathomless and he wanted nothing more than to stay with her for another hour or two, just to ease her concerns, but when the ESDC called, he had to drop everything and respond.  

“It might be a good chance for you to spend more time with Polly and the babies, or with Ronnie, if she isn’t too busy canoodling with Toni,” he suggested in an upbeat tone.

She smirked. “Maybe. I’m sure I’ll find something to preoccupy me. But head back as soon as you can, okay? Or let me know if you’ll be late.”

“I will.” He kissed her before pushing himself out of bed.

He hoped fervently that he didn’t have to stay at the base for very long.

************

He stayed longer than he expected. He got asked questions by half a dozen different people, almost the same questions over and over again about the satellite, where he saw it, how he came about to finding it.

When those questions got cycled half a dozen times, he got asked about slave traders in Peitho, about Dilton Doiley and the GBI. It went through another cycle, interspersing with the Sugarman and various other big bounties he’d caught in the last few months.

When it went back to the stolen tech, he began to get frustrated, but he tried his very best to be cooperative. The more cooperative he was, the sooner he could get out of here.

His battle dress uniform, with its unrelenting black color and rigid styling, felt stifling at the moment. It was a uniform intended for working at space stations, so it did have its utilitarian turtleneck undershirt and the thermal body-fitting sweater. It was meant to be comfortable. It should be, even in times of war, when they were also required to wear the utility vest, which doubled as kevlar, but given that he was just here for paperwork, Jughead skipped the vest. His black utility pants were durable, but soft, especially free of weapons and artillery that would have weighed it down.

He should be grateful, really, that he was only required to wear his less formal uniform. Major Weatherbee could have required him to put on his service dress uniform, which always looked great, but made him feel like he was playing dress up at a charity benefit.

Of course, it was clear to him that his discomfort wasn’t really stemming from the uniform, it was being in this environment, where once he felt so at home, where he thought _This is my family and I would die for it._

Neither of that was true anymore. His real family was waiting for him in New York City—his father, his sister, and Betty. The Def Cor was just an organization now. He owed them his loyalty, yes, and he had a duty to answer their summons, but he knew who his true family was.

Major Weatherbee saw him last. Jughead’s commanding officer was also in battle dress uniform, free of the vest.

For the nth time that day, Jughead stood at attention to greet a superior officer. They’d been coming in and out of what he had already begun to call his interrogation room.

“At ease, pilot,” said Major Weatherbee, settling into the chair across from him and plopping a thick folder on the table between them.

Jughead sat, “at ease” but still straight backed and alert.

“Been a while since we’ve seen you here, haven’t we?” said the Major, rifling through the documents in his folder.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“A little less than two years left on reserve.” Major Weatherbee looked up. “Space has been peaceful of late, but you’ve been doing good work in the 3rd and 4th Quad. The Wild Quest, as they call it.”

Jughead wasn’t sure about what the ESDC knew of his activities in space, but he always assumed word would get back to them one way or another.

He nodded. “There’s a lot of scum in the universe, sir.”

“Agreed. You put away a couple of big fugitives, the Sugarman and one genocidal despot and her family. You also reported a lead to the GBI’s anti-slave trading task force that led to the arrest of several high-target slave trading organization bosses with ties to weapons trafficking. People were killed. Fortunately none of ours.”

Jughead took a deep breath. The slave traders still triggered him. “Yes, sir. Slave traders don’t deserve to live, sir.”

Major Weatherbee arched an eyebrow at the strong sentiment that was so dispassionately stated. “And this is all in the 4th quadrant alone. I’m not even counting the fugitives you’ve cleared in the 3rd quad.”

“I take my job seriously, sir.”

“That you do. The ESDC always considered you an asset, Jones. You were granted your extended sabbatical because we didn’t want to lose you completely. Knowing that your service is about to come to a complete end, the ESDC may very well try to make the most of your skills yet.”

Jughead swallowed but said nothing, pursing his lips at the reality that he may be called to a few more missions the next couple of years.

“You’ve been in the news lately, haven’t you?”

Jughead could feel his face flaming. “I’ve been told, sir.”

Major Weatherbee made a sound. “So have I. I have not gone online myself to find out what sort of nonsense the gossip mills have been stirring about you. That is not my job, but as your commanding officer, I take my responsibilities towards your well-being seriously. Aside from the trail of enemies you’ve left in your wake because you’re so good at your job, you’ve plopped this steaming pile of a weapons tech breach along my pipeline _and_ you’ve assumed relations with the daughter of a weapons dealer. If I’m to believe the news, she is the scientist responsible for the creation of those very powerful weapons herself—“

“She isn’t,” Jughead interjected passionately. “Responsible for the weapons, I mean. She created an engine. A fantastic engine. What her father’s company decided to do with that engine was outside her influence. She left the company, sir. Long before they weaponized her work.”

He was rambling, and all he could think about was how devastated Betty would be when she finds out what her father had done. He wasn’t even sure if he could deliver this news. If this information was classified, he couldn’t tell her.

Major Weatherbee nodded. “Understood. That is not my concern. This is what you need to understand, Jones: The war machine is a blood machine. Intergalactic armament in a business so lucrative that it will compromise the morality of its players to frighteningly overwhelming degrees. You’ve been interfering with the cogs, Captain--in various ways, it seems, so I urge you to be vigilant. Watch your back. I cannot help you if those above me decide you’re what’s standing between them and that intergalactic treasure chest. Do you understand?”

Jughead scowled. “Sir, are you saying the weapons breach could be an internal matter?”

“I’m not saying anything. All I know is that your intel has been buried the last few months, and it was only yesterday that some eager cadet fished it out of the archives and somehow managed to cut through 8 weeks of red tape in less than 24 hours.”

Jughead’s mind was spinning. That was objectively alarming.

“That is all, pilot,” Major Weatherbee said. “You are dismissed. I will update you as needed. And in case you have not figured it out, all the information we’ve discussed here is classified.”

Of course it was.

***********

He messaged Betty that he was on his way back to the city. He would’ve called her, but he felt a little too distracted to have a proper conversation with her.  That he couldn’t tell her much about it made it even worse.

She probably wouldn’t be bothered by the lack of information. Knowing Betty, she would be _worried_ that he couldn’t tell her more.  And honestly, the kind of information Weatherbee had dumped on him should be cause for worry.

It was tough to figure out if Weatherbee’s words were insinuation or speculation. The former bordered on treacherous and the latter on paranoia. Was there any truth in it? Did Weatherbee know something or was he just weary of Spacefleet politics?

His comm beeped and a quick glance showed him Betty’s moving avatar superimposed by her caller ID. He took the hail and his comm projected the screen so that he didn’t have to take his eyes off the airspace in front of him.

“Hi, babe. Miss me already?” He grinned through his troubled thoughts.

Her eyes were dancing and she propped her chin against the heel of her hand. “I do, actually. Do you realize that we haven’t gone a day without each other for eight months?”

He deferred from mentioning that it’s what he’d been telling her the last couple of days.

She went on. “Even when we were fighting we were _around_ each other.”

It was both hilarious and adorable that she was only just realizing this. “Yeah, that might have been because we were in a confined ship floating in deep space.”

“Oh? And that’s the only reason, right?”

Her teasing tone made him roll his eyes and laugh. “ It’s our normal. What can I say?”

“It feels weird now when I’m not with any of you Joneses for long periods, it seems. I was going to make plans with Ronnie but I talked myself out of it. So I spent all morning with FP and JB, then I took JB with me to see Polly. I’ve never seen Polly so nonplussed. It was great!”

Jughead couldn’t help the amused smirk that tilted his lips. He supposed JB, who thrived on chaos, could very well upset Polly, who preferred things to be in a constant state of order and predictability.  

“So how did your visit to spacefleet go?” she asked, casually, as if that hadn’t been the object of her call in the first place.

And as if his stomach wasn’t dropping, he replied, “Oh, it was interesting. Good to see my commanding officer again. We exchanged pleasantries and I told him that Dilton Doiley was absolute scum.”

Her shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “Did you have to tell him how he was--you know, dealt with?”

“It came up, but there was nothing they didn’t already know. They didn’t care about who did him in, babe. They just needed to know how I got my intel on the slave traders.”

The tension eased from her shoulders. “Is that all they wanted from you? Intel?”

“Yes. They just asked me questions the whole day.” It was the truth. Aside from Major Weatherbee’s foreboding words, nobody threatened him with a Court Martial or told him to report for duty.

Her eyes gave him the once over. “Is that your uniform?”

He stifled his grin. “That’s right. You’ve never seen me in it, have you?”

She shook her head. “Uh, uh. I’d like to examine the details of this outfit. Take it apart piece by piece.”

His dick twitched, naturally. “I’ll head straight to your apartment.”

“Wonderful. And I think I found the perfect lingerie to match.”

 

***************

 

Jughead always thought that Betty was kind of a classic beauty. She had a face that belonged in the era of the silver screen, with her blonde hair, pouty lips, and that graceful decolletage.

He had often wondered if she knew it. Did she ever play it up? Did her wardrobe on Earth lean towards that 50s aesthetic that offered shades of Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly? He couldn’t tell from what he saw of her closet the past couple of nights and she hadn’t worn anything particularly retro, which was fine. It was just a fantasy. Maybe something to explore in the future.

But when she opened the door to receive him, that fantasy played out at first sight. Her shiny blonde hair was styled in wavy ringlets, her lips were ruby red in a shade that matched her nails, and her cat eyes fluttered lazily, watching him take her in.

The black silk, interspersed with patches of lovely lace, was cut in the classic perky pointed bra, high waisted panties, and garter belts that held up stockings covering her endless length of legs. They tapered to five inch Mary Janes that no doubt made her ass even more perfect than it already was.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped, paralyzed at the door. He grew so instantly hard that he was in danger of spilling right there.

“Welcome home, soldier,” she said, coupling her faux transatlantic lilt with a wink. She smoothed her hand over his chest, her eyes dancing over his body from head to toe. “Miss me?”

There was really no point in correcting her about soldier vs. pilot. It was all good, to him.

He swooped in, crashing his lips against hers, and hitched her legs around his waist. He vaguely heard the door swish closed behind him, but he doubt if he would’ve really cared.

She smelled like French lavender and honey, and as they ravished each other’s mouths, he felt her center grind against his dick.  

He brought her to the couch, and laid her on her back, his body between her thighs.

“Jesus, Betts. I almost lost it back there.” He pulled off his sweater, swiping it right off and hastily working on his undershirt. Her felt her fingers trail up his chest as his skin hit the warm air of her apartment. The faint tinkle of his dog tags cut through the haze. “You gotta warn a guy.”

“I thought I did in your _cockpit.”_ The accent was gone, but the coy, seductive tone was still there.

He cast her a warning smile as he made quick work of his boots and socks. When she reached to undo his belt, he let her, and when he was free of the buckles, he pushed everything off, fishing the condoms from his pockets and setting them aside within his reach. He was completely naked and she was still in her lingerie and heels, which he preferred. He didn’t know if he wanted her to keep her lingerie on or for him to take it off.

He lifted one of her legs, running his finger along the seam of her stocking. “Good God, baby. These are exquisite…”

She grinned, dragging her fingers down between her breasts and dipping tantalizingly down between her legs. “Hmm, kinda knew you would like them. Are you going to take them off?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to, but I want you.”

“Then pay attention,” she whispered, running her fingers along his jawline and making him watch them. Carefully, she undid a button over her clit. A swath of cloth fell away, and it dawned on him that he could fuck her without removing a thing.

“Oh, my God.”

He went in to devour her. Her moan as he flicked his tongue into her sweet folds filling him with satisfaction. As he worked his lips along her pussy, her fingers tightened through his hair, and when he gently sucked on her clit, the way she said his name made his cock ache even harder.

He fitted his shoulders beneath her thighs, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her hips slightly so that he could push his tongue into her further.

“Oh, my fucking God, Juggie, _yes.”_

When she moaned like that, he allowed himself the thought that no one but him could make her feel this way. That he could make her come more times than anyone else.

The canting of her hips against his mouth made him smile. She looked so goddamn hot like this and he wanted to shatter her just like this.

Knowing what she needed, he made his tongue press firm circles around her clit. He could tell by the sounds she made that she loved it, so he kept going.

“Juggie!” she gasped just as she fell apart. She cried out his name over and over. It was like music and he worked her through her orgasm. Few things were more satisfying to him than hearing her moan and feeling the rocking of her hips against his mouth.

When that sexual tension finally fell away from her body, he let her settle for a moment, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he watched her come down.

He missed the sight of her beautiful breasts. Loved the feel of it in his hands and against his mouth. He supposed he could take _some_ of this beautiful ensemble off. He would keep on his favorite parts. The garter belts and stocking needed to stay. Gently, he began to remove her bra.

Her lip quirked lazily, helping him remove the garment. He tossed the bra to the side and began to kiss a path up her body.

Her soft purr was coupled by her fingers raking gently through his hair.

When his lips met the slope of her breast, he licked the underside of it, his mouth making its way up her nipple. He sucked gently while his hand palmed her other breast, slowly working her back up. Her sigh, coupled with the arching of her back against his mouth, made him want to feel more of her.

He lowered his fingers down her body, dipping them between her folds. She was so wet that it made his cock throb painfully.

He’d had a tough afternoon and he realized that his self control wasn’t at its best today. It didn’t help that she looked this way, that she felt this way, like she’d been ready to seduce him all day.

“I need you, Betts,” he murmured against her throat.

Her nails scratched light down his back, which only served to make him want her harder. “Take me. It’s all I’ve been thinking about all day.”

He needed her _now._

“Condom,” he gasped, reaching for one of the packets he set aside.  She helped him remove the packaging and he slipped the condom on. Then he was inside her.

The first embrace of her around his cock was always incredible. Their groans mingled and he paused to savor the sensation, closing his eyes in a moment of pure bliss.

When he felt her lips touch his, his tongue sought to tangle with hers, and as they kissed he moved inside her, the push and pull between them quickly building heat.

He relished reconnecting with her this way, cherished how their lovemaking could ease his mind and make him feel less afraid of what was ahead.  He was grateful that she loved him enough--desired him enough to greet him at the door dressed in lingerie. He wanted nothing more than to please her, even as his own desire for her felt overwhelming.

He rocked harder into her and he gasped as she shifted her hips so she could get the leverage to rock back against him.

“Baby,” he groaned. “That feels so fucking good.”

She nodded, tangling her fingers loosely around his dog tags as she planted her hands firmly over his shoulders. He liked it when she claimed him like that, loved the thought that he felt tied to her.

Her moans grew louder, and when she arched her neck, he felt her flutter around him. His dick was so incredibly sensitive that he didn’t think he could hold back for much longer. When she came, he joined her, thrusting deep into her as he cried out her name.

***********

His princess did change out of her lingerie into a more comfortable tshirt and sweet cotton panties, and while it was a shame to see her put her sexy lingerie away, he preferred the feel of her body wrapped in soft fabric when they were settling into bed for sleep.

The warmth between their bodies lulled him into a sleepy haze. He was vaguely aware that she was still playing with his dog tags.

“Juggie, are they going to call you back to duty?” she asked, as if speaking above a whisper would make it real.

“That wasn’t brought up, babe,” he replied, his tone heavy with drowsiness.

“What did they want from you?”

He ran his fingers lightly down her hair. “I’m not allowed to say.”

“Is it classified?”

He nodded.

She tucked her head against his chest. “I’m worried.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t be.”

He wasn’t sure if the reassurance was just for her.

 

***************

 

His tag was bleeping and he immediately thought that the ESDC was trying to contact him again, but when he looked at the projected screen, he saw that it was Jellybean. He felt sluggish enough that he thought about ignoring it.

Before he could decide, it stopped, and figuring that it was probably unimportant, he began to drift off to sleep again.

Moments later, he heard a vaguely soft ring from Betty’s phone. Betty slept right through it and Jughead didn’t even consider that this was Jellybean trying to contact him from another line. He permitted himself to go back to sleep.

So it was a bit of a shock when he heard Jellybean’s voice waking him up. Even more amazing when he realized that her voice was coming from Cedonia, who was hovering above them in bed.

“Oh, my God, answer your goddamn phones!” Jellybean said.

“JB?” he moaned, forced out of sleep. “What the fuck? Betty’s sleeping! Keep it—“

Betty jolted to a sitting position. “I’m awake. I’m up. What’s happening?” Her voice was thick with sleep and her hair was a tangled mess.

“Sorry guys.”

Betty looked up at Cedonia, shocked. “Is that you, JB?”

Jughead growled. “What the fuck’s so important that—“

“Jug, please,” Jellybean said in a tone he’d never heard from her before. It was rife with tension. Jellybean never sounded like that. “Mom’s here, and it is _not_ going well.”


	4. The Rage

 

 

When he kissed Betty goodbye with promises of coming back as soon as the matter with his mother was resolved, he saw that glint of hurt in her eyes and he couldn’t just leave her like that.

He had asked, softly, if she was okay.

She nodded, at first, saying, “Text me if you need anything. I’m only two blocks away.”

But he knew from living with her that there was something sitting in the quiet corners of her mind. He insisted, gently, on telling him what was troubling her.

Her hesitation was distinct, but she looked into his eyes and said, “I know this is a family matter, Juggie, and it’s none of my business, but I’m worried for JB and FP, too.”

His heart wrenched, then. “My mother brings out the worst in all of us. I can’t let you to see that, Betts.” That was his truth. Up until now, he was so happy that Betty only got to see the side of the Joneses that was this fully formed, quirky and flawed family. He never wanted her to see them damaged. Not like this. “Please. This won’t take long…”

She backed off, then. Planting a soft kiss goodbye on his lips and sending him off.

It was only now, walking the couple of blocks, that he realized exactly what Betty was trying to tell him. Up until that moment he left her at her door, she believed she was one of them, too. She thought she was family.

She hadn’t left him out meeting hers. The last two days, he’d been given a front row seat to the mess that were the Coopers. She had let him in on the secret: that their impeccably dressed and mannered family were just as crazy as anyone else’s.

Cursing under his breath, he turned around and went back to Betty’s apartment, and the moment he walked back in, he said, “Betts, are you sure you want to be there for this? It’ll be awful and messy.”

Betty gave him a heartbreakingly earnest look. “I want to be there for you, Juggie. Just like you’ve been there for me.”

God help them both. “Okay.”

She got dressed in record time. She was still throwing stuff on when they were walking out of her apartment door and she was trying her hair back in a ponytail as they walked the two blocks to FP and Jellybean’s accommodations.

“Mom’s intense and she can make dad say shitty things,” he told Betty. “Ugly things might be said.”

Betty nodded. “I’m not there to judge. I’m just there for you, FP, and JB. Okay?”

He swallowed uneasily, but he nodded, throwing his arm over her shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He supposed if anyone could understand dysfunctional mothers, it would be Betty.

Gladys Tilly, formerly Gladys Jones, was never known to be subtle. She didn’t finesse things and she certainly didn’t go about quietly twisting knives with painful precision, the way Alice did. Gladys was loud, destructive, and lacked impulse control.

And if Jughead really wanted to punish himself with thoughts of his father’s inclinations, Jughead can figure that as different as Gladys and Alice were, the one thing about both that FP probably couldn’t resist was how neither took his bullshit.

In everything else, they were different. From their hair to their clothes, to their method of inflicting pain and suffering. If Alice was a sharp shooting sniper, Gladys detonated bombs and took everyone down with her.

His mother can be intense, and he meant what he said—this was not how he wanted Betty to meet her.

They arrived at the apartment building and the receptionist greeted him warmly as he walked in, which would’ve been amazing if he didn’t have his rampaging mother to think about.

They headed straight for the elevators and as he stood outside the apartment door with Betty, Jughead could hear Gladys and FP yelling. Hotdog barked and followed it with a miserable howl.

“Jesus,” Jughead muttered to himself. He didn’t _have_ to show up, honestly. Gladys was a hurricane, but just like any hurricane, they blew over and left. He could weather this by hunkering down and doing nothing.

But perhaps sensing his impulse to flee, Betty squeezed his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. Her nod of encouragement was enough to give him the courage.

He rang the doorbell and the screaming paused. Seconds later, the door flew open to Jellybean’s disheveled visage.

She was in her pajamas and her usually artistically styled hair was a complete mess. Like her curls had decided to break free of their bindings and were flying free.

“What took you?” Jellybean hissed, whispering and piercing Jughead with her glare.

“Oh, wonderful! The knight himself has decided to grace us with his presence!” Gladys Jones cried, throwing her hands up and rolling her eyes. “And look, he brought his princess. Just great!”

Jughead instinctually pushed Betty behind him. His mother was swinging.

“And don’t you just hate being reminded of how wrong you were about him?” FP shot back, hotly. “You can’t stand the fact that he did so well for himself—“

“Oh, stuff it, Forsythe. Is that your version of an I Told You So? As if you had anything to do with him and what he’s accomplished!”

Misery bubbled up in Jughead’s chest. It was a feeling that only ever surfaced when he listened to his parents fight. Seeing them standing apart, faces hard, fingers pointing, and some food and cutlery on the floor. He had to remind himself that he was an adult and that he had the physical presence he once lacked.

“Hey!” he cried above their voices. “Both of you settle the fuck down! It’s not even nine in the morning! What brought on this shit storm?”

FP groaned. “Don’t ask her that.”

Gladys was already getting worked up anew, pressing something on her phone and throwing it up on the projected virtual screen. “Well, I’m glad you asked, _Junior_. Take a look at this and tell me if that won’t work you up first thing.”

Jughead scowled as he read the headline:

 

**_Jughead Jones’s Mother Took Out the Trash at 21st Century Telecomm!_ **

 

“Mom—“

“Like, they could have said, ‘Started from facilities and worked her way up to corporate!’ but _no,”_ Gladys said in a bitingly sarcastic tone. “I took out the trash. Do any of you realize what this can do to my chances at moving up at work? Like, I’m just working my ass off and _this_ comes along like I asked for it. I didn’t. I like my privacy, thank you very much, but now I have to care and it pisses me off. You’re just going to keep dragging me down, aren’t you, FP? God, I hate men. Jellybean, never trust them.”

“How is this my fault again?” FP cried.

Gladys’ eyes could have shot holes into FP’s brain. “Are you serious? Apparently, you just stood by and let him date that _bitch’s_ daughter!”

“Watch it,” Jughead warned. He was about to tell her to shut up when he felt the pressure of Betty’s hand on his arm, reminding him not to take the bait.

“It’s not about me,” Betty whispered behind him.

Jughead took a deep breath as Glady’s deadly glare swiveled to him.

“Junior, you’re a good kid and believe me when I say that I’m impressed that you’ve come so far, but did you even think about what dating a princess like her meant? How can you be so goddamn naive—“

“God, mom!” Jellybean interjected. “Leave them alone! They’re perfectly fine without your toxic take on their relationship!”

Hotdog punctuated Jellybean’s words with a bark of his own.

“And how many laws did your dad ask you to break today?” Gladys shot back before looking pointedly at Jughead. “I’m surprised you guys haven’t gotten the princess in trouble yet, or have you?”

That hit a nerve harder than Gladys even realized. Jughead’s memories immediately flashed back to Peitho and finding Betty in the kitchen, beaten and broken. He felt stricken, and he cursed at himself for ever letting Gladys do this to him.

FP grimaced. “Don’t even pretend you give a shit about anyone else’s welfare, Gladys. You just want to make it seem like I ain’t good for anyone, and you’re wrong. You’re dead wrong.”

Gladys held up the article again. “You see this? This makes _me_ look like trash. As if I hadn’t worked two shitty jobs to support two kids while you were out high fiving your drunk buddies. Have you read what they wrote about you? You, an alcoholic and ex-con, gets written like some mythical phoenix rising from the ashes, adventuring across the galaxy with Sir Jughead, Princess Betty’s gallant knight. I don’t know who the fuck spun that bullshit, but whatever the papers wrote about me, you can ask that person to fix it. _Fix it_ , as in take me off this goddamn narrative, or I’ll go to the papers myself and blow this thing up. Give them something to _really_ talk about.”

Jughead felt his stomach lurch, and he stifled the urge to yell at her, to tell her to stop being such a goddamn bull who charged at the slightest provocation. Being so far away from his mother and so used to his father made him forget how exhausting having both of them can be. It was like being in the eye of an emotional shit storm.

He was on the verge of blowing his top, perhaps just out-screaming them both, but Betty’s hand pressed along his spine and smoothed over the tension on his shoulders and suddenly, he was letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  

He realized then how glad he was that he went back for Betty.

 

******************

 

Gladys looked like a formidable woman. She wasn’t particularly tall, but she wore thick heeled leather boots laced to her knees, black form fitting jeans, a drape collared white shirt inside a black leather jacket, and a hat to top her wild, wavy hair. Her features were sharp and steely, accented by the silver jewelry around her neck and wrists. If Betty were to guess, she came on a motorcycle, and she could probably kick FP’s ass if she really wanted to.

As much as Betty loved FP, she recognized that Jughead’s drive and determination wasn’t a trait he inherited from his father. FP tended to be more easy going, strong when he needed to be, brave and self-sacrificing when called to it, but he wasn’t going to rock the ship.

Gladys looked like she would rock the ship, and she didn’t give a damn who disagreed with her. So when she started throwing bombs and Betty could see the tension building in Jughead’s body, how his eyes began to spark like little flints and how the muscles at the base of his neck started to snap tight, Betty knew no good would come of it.

She knew Jughead. She knew where she could touch him and diffuse that detonation. She also had _a lot_ of practice emotionally sparring with her mother, and because Alice was still the master assassin, she might have a few tricks up her sleeve to deal with Gladys.

“You’re right,” Betty piped, getting everyone’s attention, particularly Gladys’s.

Her expression was one of disbelief, like she couldn’t believe _this blonde twit_ had dared to throw herself into the fray.

Betty’s heart was hammering in her chest, but she was doing this for the Joneses and she had to see this through. “You’re right,” she repeated. “It’s sexist and unfair.  I can help fix that.”

For a few seconds, Gladys looked like she didn’t know what to say, but as was expected from a woman like her, she regained her footing and said, “Well, I’m glad _someone_ agrees with me! Gladys Tilly, by the way. _Used to_ go by Jones.”

“Betty Cooper.”

“I know who you are, honey. Word of advise. If you wanna throw your hat in with this delinquent--”

FP stepped between them. “Alright, Gladys.”

Gladys sighed and rolled her eyes.  “Fine. It’s her life. I still can’t believe you let junior do this, FP. Take up with the Coopers, of all people. Alice chewed you up and spit you out like you were nothing, and I had to put you back together. Now you’re letting junior --”

“Betty is _nothing_ like Alice,” Jughead said, hotly.

Betty thought that was one of the best compliments she’d ever gotten.

FP scoffed. “Don’t even pretend you care. We were both crappy parents to him growing up, but at least I don’t pretend I helped make him the man he is. You took two jobs for a couple of years and suddenly you’re Mother of the Year! As if you didn’t abandon him at 15!”

 _“Dad!”_ Jughead cried, his eyes speaking volumes about how he didn’t want that part of his life splayed out for _her_ to hear. Jughead had spoken hints of his mother’s absence, but he never actually _told_ her that Gladys left him. Betty suspected it was because he didn’t want to be defined by it, for her to look at him and color him with that shade of pity. Betty didn’t want to yell out that she knew his story, either. That FP had told her everything, because that might be throwing FP under the bus with his son.  

It was distressing enough as it was without more emotional carnage.

Gladys’s eyes flickered with what Betty could’ve sworn was hurt, but then the steel returned to her eyes. “Hey, I did what I had to do. I took Jellybean with me because she needed taking care of. Jughead could take care of himself and he was going to juvie. There was nothing I can do!”

FP stabbed a finger in the air in her direction. “What you could’ve done was take him after he got out, but no. You know who was there to pick him up after he got out? Thomas Topaz. Could’ve been worse, I suppose. Could’ve been Tall Boy. Could you imagine that heap of trash picking up your boy from juvie? Because his mother couldn’t make it?”

Gladys looked ready to explode. “You don’t know a _thing_ about it, FP.”

The snarl that formed on FP’s face was nothing Betty had ever seen before. “Oh, I know plenty. You left Jughead by himself because you thought he was going to be just like me, Gladys. If that ain’t the worst thing a mother can do--”

“You stop right there, FP Jones.”  

Jughead sighed, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Guys, stop it.  Let’s not dredge up the past. Mom, you got what you wanted. Betty’s going to do something about this with the media and we’ll be out of your hair in three days.  If that’s all, calm the hell down or else go. For everyone’s sanity.”

Gladys’s gaze whipped in his direction and Betty thought she was going to lash out even more, but she paused, took a deep breath, and put her hands up, kicking an overturned bowl of cereal by her foot slightly to the side. “I’m leaving. I’ve said my piece, but maybe you should watch your father, kid. I’ll bet you everything I have that he’d been trying to get into Alice Cooper’s panties the moment he got back to Earth.”

“Jesus Christ, mom!” Jellybean cried.

Hotdog gave a howl, attuned to Jellybean’s emotions.

“And you,” Gladys said, looking pointedly at Betty. “I bet the only reason FP took you along was to piss Hal Cooper off.”

Betty pursed her lips.

“Hey, that wasn’t my idea!” FP cried.

“Yeah, that was mine,” Betty admitted sheepishly.

Jughead stared at them both in shock.

Betty gave him an apologetic shrug. “Hey, he _wasn’t_ going to take me on the ship. I had to give him proper motivation!”

Jughead scowled at his father. “Dad.”

“Don’t at me.”

“Don’t _what?”_

Gladys scoffed, tilting a grin that might actually mean she was somewhat impressed. “I take it back, princess. You belong with these marauders.”

“Thank you,” Betty replied. She meant it.

Gladys rolled her eyes and shook her head as she went for the doors.

“How did you even find us, Gladys? Who told you we were here?” FP demanded before she left.

“Please, FP. Where do you think JB first learned how to hack?”

She left, and Betty could only think that there could not have been a better way than this to meet Gladys Tilly Jones.

 

*****************

 

Betty picked up the overturned bowl from the floor and Jellybean fell to her knees beside her, sweeping the pieces of spilled cereal.

In another area, Jughead and FP picked up the pieces of broken plates and glasses.

They had been working in silence for a few minutes and Betty understood that they needed this quiet to settle their harrowed emotions.

It was Jellybean who finally broke the silence minutes later.

“We’ll pay for the stuff mom broke, won’t we dad?” she asked.

FP sighed. “Yeah, of course, JB.”

Betty wanted to tell him not to bother. This wasn’t going to put a dent on her mother’s bank account, but that was telling FP that Alice would cover the cost, something she knew FP wouldn’t appreciate. FP had been many things, but Betty understood that when he attained sobriety, he made sure he did everything right. Paying for broken flatware wasn’t about replacing material things, it was about holding his own and she wanted to respect that.

“We’ll go buy the plates ourselves,” Betty said. “This way, you don’t have to explain to mom.”

Jughead made a soft sound, telling FP to take a seat and that he’d take care of the mess.

FP didn’t argue. He slumped on the couch and ran his fingers through his hair. Hotdog, probably sensing his distress, went to him and laid his head on FP’s lap. A small smile tilted FP’s lips as he scratched behind Hotdog’s ears.  “Betty, I want to thank you for saying what you did. It calmed her down and—and diffused the situation.”

Betty looked up at him in mild surprise, then stifling a smile, she said, “We look out for one another.”

Jellybean smirked and tapped her shoulder. “Yeah, we do.”

“And I’ll talk to Penny,” Betty continued, going to the sink to deposit the mess she had picked up from the floor. “What the Daily Deets did to Gladys was pretty infuriating.”

If Gladys hadn’t been so explosive earlier, Betty might have been inclined to think that she couldn’t blame Gladys for being so angry, but she had caused Jughead and everyone else so much stress that Betty would rather save that thinking for next time.

Gladys looked like she wouldn’t take bullshit from anyone, but the one thing that stood out to Betty was how she never really pointed a finger at Jughead. Her anger had been directed at FP, and perhaps that was normal, but Betty wondered if she had seen actual kinks in Gladys’s armor when Gladys deflected blame from her children.  

She may have seemed angry with Jughead, but the steeliness withered just the tiniest bit when FP brought up the subject of her abandonment of Jughead. Betty had a distinct feeling that there was _more_ to that story.

She wasn’t going to say that now, however. The Joneses were most definitely feeling a bit fragile at the moment. She wasn’t going to dig in with _that._

“The Daily Deets is officially on my shit list for rousing up mom like that,” Jughead muttered. “Talk about tickling a sleeping dragon…”

The question of whether Gladys really called him Junior sat at the tip of Betty’s tongue, but she stopped herself, because it occurred to her that it could be a charged topic, too.

When the floor was cleaned and everything was put back in order, Jughead tilted his head towards the double doors leading to the balcony as he approached her. “Can we talk for a second?”

Betty nodded, setting aside the kitchen towel she was drying her damp hands with.

As they stepped outside onto the spacious, furnished balcony, she noticed him patting his jacket for something. Probably a smoke. His shoulders slumped when he realized he didn’t have them.

To alleviate his distress, she wrapped her arms around his body, her cheek pressed to his chest. Sighing, he enfolded her in his embrace.

“I am sorry you had to see that,” Jughead said. “But I’m grateful you’re here.”

She gave him a supportive squeeze. “I’m glad I can be there for you, and FP and JB, too. We’re family, Jug.”

And she didn’t feel awkward saying that. That would’ve been true whether or not she and Jughead were together. You don’t spend eight months with a group of people in a confined space, watching out for one another, and not feel like they’re family.

“I know,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I know.”

She closed her eyes, relishing the comfort and intimacy of this moment. She could have these with him forever.

“What dad said,” he began carefully. “About the way things went down with mom and me.”

She tilted her chin up to look at him, waiting for him to go on.

“I want you to know I’ve grown way past that,” Jughead said. “It’s not something that I want anyone to dwell on. Dad takes out the receipts when mom comes down on him like that, but it doesn’t define me.”

She nodded. He had done what he can, in the best way, to move past Gladys’s abandonment and FP’s negligence, but Jughead’s past is what shaped him. He didn’t have to be ashamed of it with her. “I’m proud of the man that you are, Jughead.”

It was a simple but powerful statement. It carried so much meaning, too, without need of too many explanations, which can dilute the weight of the words.

His gaze was intense and for a moment he didn’t say anything else. When his hand came up to rub the apple of her cheek, a softness had come over his face. “Betts, how long before you think you’ll get tired of flying across space in that clunker?”

She pinched his arm lightly. “Hey, watch it. That’s my ship you’re talking about.”

He chuckled. “Seriously. How long?”

Her heart was thudding inexplicably fast. She shook her head. “I hadn’t thought about it. I don’t know if I’ll ever get tired of it, Juggie. What is there to get tired of? I love the company. I love seeing new worlds. I love you.”

The corner of his lip lifted. “But your life here in New York...with your amazing friends and the glitz and glamour within your reach. The money… we’re never going to be so fancy living in the Wyrm.”

She gave a soft scoff. “I don’t miss the glitz, glamour, and money. I miss my friends sometimes, I always miss Ronnie, and it’s good to see my sister and her kids—Chic when he’s sober, but all I ever needed is in the Wyrm. In my apartment the other day, I was thinking that it didn’t feel like home anymore. The Wyrm feels like home.”

His lips descended on hers and she grabbed fists full of his jacket to pull him down closer, to prolong the slow and searching touch of their mouths.

She wanted to tell him that she would fly with him forever, that there was nowhere else she wanted to be except with him.

Would that be too heavy handed? Should she wait for him to say something first? What were the rules, so to speak, of engagement?

A rap on the patio door pulled Betty out of her liquid thoughts.

“Guys, are you two going to make out all morning or are we going out to have breakfast?” asked Jellybean.

She exchanged goofy grins with Jughead before she turned to reply to Jellybean. “Breakfast sounds good, JB. We’ll be there in a minute.”

Jellybean disappeared back inside.

When Betty turned back to Jughead, he was looking at her like he had something else to say.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I love you.”

She smiled and kissed him again. Jellybean and FP can wait another few minutes.

 

********************

 

They spent the morning at a little known eatery further east, and only a few people looked at Betty twice, perhaps even recognizing her, but they didn’t approach.

Jughead was just glad that beyond the paps and tourists, New Yorkers tended to respect the privacy of its celebrities.

They took the outside seating so that they didn’t have to leave Hotdog by himself. Hotdog sat happily upright, watching people and crafts whizz by with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

Jellybean had her more portable laptop with her, typing furiously at its keys and talking about some requests for cargo transport. Betty, in the meantime, after having told Penny by phone, to take care of the Gladys Tilly article, was determining cargo risk factors, weight, and cost.

Jughead gave a soft groan, knowing that him and FP would have to split on the negotiations for these requests later in the day. “I was hoping we can put off work for another day.”

FP cocked a grin. “I know we’re all having a shit ton of fun in New York but Betty is determined to make the most out of this trip.”

“We can’t be out of an income for an entire week, you know,” Betty grumbled, writing computations on a napkin. “Especially not with how much I’ve spent in the last few days. I can only passive aggressively dump so many bills on my mother.”

Jughead draped his arm on the back of Betty’s chair, grinning. “Stop spending your money. I’ve got you the next three days.”

“Oh, you’re going to be my sugar daddy, now?” Betty asked, teasing.

He kissed the side of her head. “Only if we use coupons, sugar baby.”

Betty laughed and pecked a kiss on his lips.

FP shook his head and rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

Jellybean snorted. “What, you mean you two don’t already have a joint bank account?”

Jughead felt his face grow incredibly hot. That he could see Betty’s face blossom pink didn’t help matters.

FP slurped his drink. “This tea is great.”

Honestly, he wanted to strangle his father.

Betty’s phone buzzed, and when she picked it up, she looked so immediately distressed that everyone at the table noticed it.

“Polly calm down! Are you okay? Are the babies?”

Jellybean gasped and clasped Betty’s hand. Betty clung back.

Seconds later, Betty gave a sigh of relief. “Okay. Okay, good. Now just breathe and… alright! Okay, I’ll be right over— _what_ is this about, Pol? Are you—but I— _fine!_ I’ll come alone, jeez! I’ll grab a Dryft. By—“

Betty gave an even heavier sigh, looking at her phone screen as her call ended abruptly.

“Everything alright?” FP asked, brows knitting.

“Polly wants me to go over there,” Betty said with a soft sigh. “She says the babies are fine but that I needed to go over there and that it’s kind of an emergency.”

Jughead didn’t want to ask the question but Betty must have seen it on his face.

“It’s not Chic,” Betty said. “If it were she would’ve said so.”

“Do you want some company?” Jughead asked.

She gave him a wistful look. “I would love to, but Polly asked me to come alone.”

He squeezed her arm lightly to offer her support. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “She said this was matter between her, me, and Chic only. I’m sorry I have to leave you guys.”

He felt a twinge of disappointment. He had been looking forward to spending all day with her today, especially since he was unable to the previous day, but if Polly needed her, he wasn’t going to complain.

“I’ll call you a Dryft,” Jughead said, putting the order into his tag.

She flashed him a grateful smile.

When the Dryft arrived, he walked her to the transport’s door and said, “Tag me if you need anything, okay?”

She nodded, chuckling. “The family dramas come in threes.”

“God, I hope not.”

She kissed him goodbye with whispered words of love before slotting into the transport, and she was off.

When Jughead returned to their table, Jellybean was looking at him askance.

“She going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. She’ll let me know if there’s anything.”

FP gave a grunt. “I miss space. We get to be far away from all these dramatics.”

Jughead didn’t begrudge FP the sentiment.

Jellybean shrugged. “I guess. On the upside, Betty and Jug got to meet each other’s in-laws.”

“JB,” FP said in a gently chastising tone. “Leave your brother alone.”

“Oh, like you haven’t called him out before,” Jellybean muttered.

FP gave a mildly dismissive wave. “All in good fun, but when it comes down to it, their relationship and where they take it is none of our business, okay?”

Jughead looked at his father suspiciously. “Thanks, dad. That’s very mature of you.”

“Of course,” FP said, slicing into his plate of pancakes and bacon.

When FP didn’t say anything else, Jughead warily went back to his cheese fries omelette.

“I’m not saying you should seal the deal, but you should seal the deal.” FP finally said after a silent pause. “And that’s the last I’ll say of this matter.”

Jughead rolled his eyes and boomeranged right into shooting Jellybean a glare as she snickered.

Really, he should’ve known. And it’s not like he disagreed. He just wanted to do this right, because Betty was fiercely independent and he didn’t want to upset her with what may be considered a symbol of tether and control. He didn’t want her to feel _bound_. If she wanted to stay with him, she would, no matter the proximity, no matter what a piece of paper says.

He loved Betty. He knew she had a million plans. He didn’t want her to think he was keeping her back with a marriage or trying to define her life for her. Knowing her the past few months, he knew that breaking away from the expectations of her former life meant the universe to her, and he was proud of her for having a mind of her own. He was proud of how fearless she had become. And most of all, he was incredibly happy that she was staying where she was completely of her own accord in spite of that new found independence.

He’d like to get to it, but it had to be the right moment, not at brunch with his father and sister wisecracking about it on the side.

 

******************

 

When Betty arrived at Polly’s penthouse, the babies were snoozing and Polly and Chic were set up in the living room, coffee and cakes laid out.

The universe could be imploding and Polly would still have a tray of hot beverages and delicate desserts for her guests.

“What’s this about?” Betty asked, settling into a sofa chair with a heavy thump.

Chic muttered grumpily from the couch. “Don’t ask me. I just woke up. Coffee’s good, though.”

Polly wrung both her hands, looking at both of them with careful deliberation, then like a switch, a blanket of calm settled on her face and she folded her hands on her lap primly.

Betty was a bomb expert and she felt like something was ticking.

“Remember when we were younger?” Polly began. “I was eight at the time, and mom and dad were fighting at the dinner table? They weren’t screaming, but you can tell they were both terribly angry with each other.”

Chic snorted. “Oh, yeah.”

Betty remembered. It was the first time she’d ever been scared of them both. She couldn’t remember what they were fighting about, but she remembered the rage in her dad’s eyes and the flinty way her mother had stared right back, speaking in her cold, clipped tone.

She realized, later on, that her parents fought _all the time_ , even after they became insanely rich. All the money in the world couldn’t make her parents have a loving relationship.

Polly nodded. “We were so collectively uncomfortable—“

Chic laughed. “Uncomfortable is the WASPiest way to describe dread, despair, and all-out panic.”

Betty stifled a giggle. Polly looked upset—or as upset as someone with a perfectly made up face, flawlessly combed hair, and a turtleneck. She didn’t want Polly to think she and Chic wefe ganging up on her. Besides, What Chic said wasn’t funny, either. Not at the time.

Seeing their parents that way, with their silent and powerful hostility, left an indelible impression on what their lives ahead would be. They would be perfect and beautiful on the outside, while behind the facade, they would rage and scrabble for approval, relief, and maybe even a modicum of happiness. They didn’t think exactly _that_ at the time, maybe they were just afraid that their parents would get a divorce, but they knew in their young hearts that their eyes had been opened to something terrible that night.

Polly cast Chic a frosty glare. “Are you going to let me finish?”

Chic waved his hand dismissively. “Continue.”

“We were afraid that mom and dad were going to get a divorce and that the three of us would be separated by social services, that we would have to be in a gang and get tattoos if we wanted to survive.”

Betty did remember that dread. “God, where did we even get the idea? We lived in Greenwich Village, for God’s sake.”

Chic grinned but Polly ignored them both.

“We made a pact that night,” she went on. “That the three of us would stick together. And somehow, that promise evolved into something of an us against them--mom and dad, that we would never throw anyone under the bus. We would stick to each other, no matter what.”

Betty remembered that, too. Cramped beneath Chic’s bed, in a makeshift fort, they spoke this promise to one another, sealed by a symbolic bloodletting. Instead of cutting their fingers and mixing actual blood, they told each other’s darkest secrets.

At seven, eight, and twelve, Betty, Polly, and Chic weren’t quite so dark, admittedly, but as the saying went, _give them time_.

Betty had confessed that she ate all the chocolate morsels from what was supposed to be for her mother's chocolate chip cookies, Polly confessed that she stole another girl’s shoes at gym class because the girl pissed her off, and Chic said he cheated on a math test.

It was a powerful promise in their childhoods, for sure. There were countless instances where their solidarity landed them in trouble, but they held strong to the promise for as long as they could. That is, until, Polly broke it by telling their mother Chic was regularly consuming cocaine at the Gramercy Park bathroom.

Betty would never fault Polly for that. She would’ve done it if Polly hadn’t done it first, but since then the pact had fallen somewhat by the wayside.

That Polly was invoking it again felt a little melancholic. Maybe a little alarming.

Chic clearly felt the same, because his next words were, “What did you do?”

Polly’s lips pursed, her nostrils flaring. “I am going to let you in on a secret, but before I do, I demand secrets from you both as well.”

Betty’s stomach roiled. “Oh, Polly, must we? The last time we did this—“

“I got sent to rehab,” Chic said, grinning. Clearly, that gripe had lost some of its venom. “Good times.”

That had been the aforementioned breaking of the promise, when Polly feared for Chic’s life and tattled. Betty always thought that had Chic’s secret not been so devastating, _her_ secret at the time, which was that she self-harmed to cope, would have been the one that sent Polly tattling. Polly’s own secret had been lame by comparison—that she had lost her virginity to the captain of the football team. Both Betty and Chic agreed that they shouldn’t have had to give up _their_ secrets for that shitty one.

Polly scowled. “I was afraid you’d end up dead in some hotel room, Chic. I did it for love.”

Chic had the decency to take that seriously, even as he chuckled. “I know, Pol. I’m just teasing.”

“Come on, now,” Polly said with mirthless efficiency. “Your secrets.”

Betty rolled her eyes. When did they decide that she and Chic always had to go first?

_Whatever._

“I was kidnapped by slave traders in the 4th Quad a few months back,” Betty said, casually. “I was led away by someone we trusted and the slavers accosted me. I fought back, killed them all, but not before they beat the shit out of me. Jughead thought I was dead when he found me.”

Chic’s jaw dropped and Polly’s eyes widened in shock.

“Holy shit,” Chic gasped. “What? How?”

“Details don’t matter, remember?” Betty prompted.

“Since when?” Chic cried, incredulous.

Betty frowned. “Since I said so. And before any of you jump on me, I’m getting help for my PTSD and that’s all that matters. So, there. Your turn, Chic.”

Chic’s scowl was the most serious she’d ever seen. “Details matter, sis. You and I will talk later. I don’t know if I have any secrets, though. There’s nothing about me you don’t already know. I’m a complete fuck up. You all know what I do.”

“Well, you have to give us _something,”_ Polly said.

Chic shrugged. “Fine. Few months ago I was in a polyamorous relationship with three lovely ladies. Their names were Prudence, Dorcas, and Agatha, and _boy_ did they own me. Those ladies were no joke and I was there for it.”

Betty sighed. If that weren’t most Chic thing she’d ever heard, then she would trade in her homing ring.

Polly’s lip twitched, but her eyes conveyed no disapproval. “So long as they were of age.”

“College age. At least that’s what they said. I was high half the time, so I couldn’t be 100% sure.”

Betty closed her eyes. “Jesus, Chic.”

“Your turn, Polly. What’s your secret?”

At this, Polly squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Juniper and Dagwood’s dad. It’s Nick St. Claire.”

 

*******************

 

Betty didn’t know what to say. Her mouth had fallen open and no sound was coming out. Chic looked just as shocked.

Nick St. Claire. _The_ Nick St. Claire, whose father owned the biggest share of the Interplanetary Fueling Company, which earned his family _trillions_ every couple of weeks. They were beyond rich. They were beyond royalty. They were living gods, and Nick, most of all, knew no one could touch him. He took what he wanted and threw money at it when he was told he couldn’t.

Everyone knew what he did to women. And yet he got away with it every single time.

Betty refused to eat or drink anything when he was on the premises. He was just that notorious, but nobody dared press charges. It would be impossible to call him to court without dragging your own good name through the mud.

When the feeling to Betty’s body slowly returned, she felt her eyes sting, and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle the whimper at her throat. “Polly…. did he— _did he—“_

Polly’s eyes filled with fury, cutting Betty’s words off. “He didn’t. I mean, he said we were both drunk.”

 _“No,”_ Betty said, shaking her head. “No, Polly. You know that’s a lie. You know—“

“It doesn’t matter, Betty,” Polly interrupted in a clipped tone.

“Of course it matters!”

“Sit _down!”_ Polly hissed, pointing to the seat Betty had just left.

Betty hadn’t even realized she had stood up, her eyes blazing at her sister.

When she didn’t move, Polly’s gaze grew even fiercer. “Do as I say or this conversation is over.”

Betty could feel her anger rising to the surface. Her nostrils flared as she took heavy breaths, but she did sit down and she looked at Chic, whose eyes were bright and furious, even as he sat there saying nothing.

“Whatever happened that night, I’ve moved past it,” Polly said in a quieter tone. “The farm helped me move past it. I love my children and they are mine alone, and they will never know who their true father is.”

Betty wiped at her eyes, catching the fat pools of tears with the sleeve of her coat. “Polly—“

“They will never know,” said Polly with greater emphasis. “And mom and dad will never know, because if they find out, you know they will demand my children's’ birthright. You know they will, and I can’t have that. I refuse to subject Juniper and Dagwood to the fact that their father is a—a—“

“Raping sexual predator?” Chic finished.

Polly’s lips pursed and for a second she looked like she was going to burst into tears, but she composed herself and said, “You will tell no one about this. Betty, you _will_ not tell Jughead.”

Betty wanted to protest, tell her she kept no secrets from him, but that was just her fighting her anger. This was Polly’s story and she had no right to tell it.

Polly nodded, satisfied by Betty’s silent acquiescence. “And you know that if the St. Claires find out, they might take my children from me. I will die before I let them do that, Betty.”

Betty placed her hands atop Polly’s, nodding as she blinked back her tears furiously. “I know. I know, Polly.”

Chic took a deep breath. “If you don’t want to do anything about this, why are you telling us now?”

“A reporter’s been hounding me the last few days asking questions, by phone, voicemail, and by email.”

“Ignore the press,” Betty told her, scowling. “You know this.”

“She was asking specific questions about Nick St. Claire and me. Like, she knew we had been together one night, knew when it happened and maybe even how…”

“How would she even know to ask those questions?” Betty asked.

Polly sighed and shook her head.  “There were servants around the house when I woke up the next day and left his room.  I was disoriented and confused--that could’ve gotten their attention. And I probably wasn’t the first one, so the reporter could’ve gotten all her information from the servants alone.  She told me about the other women he—he allegedly assaulted. This journalist is looking to expose him.”

“You mean someone is brave enough to find out the truth,” Chic said, his tone more forceful. “Polly, you have to—“

“I don’t have to do anything!” Polly hissed, her eyes blazing. “If I didn’t have Juniper and Dagwood to think about, this would be a different meeting. I need this reporter to go away. I need to tell her to leave me out of this without giving away that Nick is their father.”

Chic scowled. “Penny—“

Betty shook her head. “Penny will tell mom and dad. There has to be another way.”

“The only way is through it,” Chic said.

Polly scowled. “Easy for you to say. You don’t know what it’s like, Chic. You’re a man, you have nothing but your money to lose. I would give anything—pay everything, to make this go away without the world and my children knowing about Nick.”

“We’ll think of something, Polly,” Betty promised, even if she had no clue at how they were going to deal with this. “Just sit tight and say nothing to anyone.”

Polly nodded. “I have no intention to.”

Betty looked at her brother imploringly. “And you won’t do anything, right?”

Chic scoffed.

“Chic?”

“I won’t say anything to anyone, but this is bullshit. He shouldn’t have to get away with this.”

“This is _my_ choice,” Polly stated in a firm tone.

Chic stood up and left, probably to go into his room.

Betty couldn’t help the tears that were trickling down her face and Polly, sighing, hushed her and rubbed her shoulders.

“How can you just sit there and be calm about this?” Betty demanded.

It was painful to hear that someone had done this to her sister. How had he done it? Did he roofie her drink? Did he flirt with her all night and make her drink copious amounts of alcohol? Or did she just happen to be drunk and he saw his chance? Was she passive or did she fight back? It hurt her heart to think of her sister being violated that way.

“I’ve had months, Betty,” Polly said, quietly. “The morning I woke up after it had happened, I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t remember getting into bed, I didn’t know where I was, I had most of my clothes on, and Nick wasn’t even there. But my body hurt, parts of it hurt more than others, and when I saw Nick on my way out of the house, he told me we got a little wild, that we had fun, and that we both had too much to drink. I wanted to believe it then, that it was as much fun for me as it had been for him.”

Betty sniffled, keeping her own grief at bay.

“But the dreams, Betty,” Polly continued, shaking her head and looking sadly at her hands. “It was like memories coming back, or maybe they were just my repressed thoughts coming for me at night. Deep down, I knew what he’d done to me. I felt like trash. And then I found out I was pregnant and—it was horrible.”

Betty bit her lip, wanting to ask questions but letting Polly tell her own tale.

“I was going to get an abortion.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Polly sighed. “This is going to sound shitty, but I saw your life imploding and Chic getting dragged back to rehab, and I was afraid that I was headed in a similar path of self-destruction.”

Betty let out a liquid laugh. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry.”

Betty nodded. “I get it. You weren’t wrong. I was a mess. My life was a steaming pile.”

“I thought maybe I’d have the kid and have something to live for. I’ve always been a goal-oriented person. I’ve always been domestic. I decided to have the child for myself, and I said I didn’t have to tell anyone who the father was, and that worked out, especially when I found the farm.”

Betty held her thoughts back about the so-called farm. If they were there for her sister, she couldn’t very well tell Polly to reconsider her associations with them.

“Everything has been great until this reporter, Betty. Like I said, if it were just me, I think I would—tell her that Nick raped me, but if I do that now, people will figure out that my kids are Nick’s. I will lose control and I might lose everything.”

Betty understood. She couldn’t blame Polly for keeping quiet. She threw her arms around her sister, squeezing her tight. Polly squeezed back.

They were going to figure this out. Polly would never have to be forced to do something she didn’t want to ever again.

 

***************

 

After Jughead dropped his father and Jellybean off at their apartment, Jughead got a text from Betty.

**_Do you mind if I spend the rest of the day with Polly, Chic, and the babies?_ **

He smiled at the text fondly, glad to see Betty enjoying her time with her siblings, niece, and nephew.

**_Take your time, Betts._ **

**_Thank you. I love you._ **

He looked down the street, marvelling at how he grew up a couple of interstates away from one of the greatest cities in the galaxy and he hadn’t really revisited his old haunts.

He figured now was a good time. He had his craft with him, still, and he jetted around the city, going to places he used to frequent. Memorials and old bookstores, classic movie theaters and his favorite parks. He soaked in the serenity of city gardens then walked along the SoHo streets, with its vintage shops and restaurants that served delicious, exotic foods.

It was hours later that he stood in front of a shop with an array of vintage rings in its window.

Homing rings were cool, but didn’t his princess deserve a proper ring?

He eyed them all, knowing that he couldn’t get anything extraordinarily huge. Betty wouldn’t want that, anyway. She worked with her hands and having a stone that could snag in an engine would be annoying. It had to be relatively flat, and it had to mean something.

He spied a ring which had a small diamond in its center, but set in a band made of opal stone, like the dark fabric of space, with its stars and nebulae, trapped in shimmering, beautiful rock. The universe in the palm of her hand.

_Am I really doing this?_

He nodded. He was.

He walked into the jewelry store.

 

********************

 

He got another text just shortly after he had pocketed the most important piece of jewelry in his life.

**_Meet me at Ryoga’s, Jones. -Hal Cooper_ **

Jughead stared at the text, wondering what the fuck this was about. He considered texting Betty about it, maybe for a laugh, but knowing her, she would feel enormous amounts of anxiety.

He wondered if he should just ignore the summons altogether, but the last thing he wanted was for Hal to think he was afraid.  

_Screw it._

He knew Ryoga’s. It was a ramen place downtown. Expensive as hell, but he wasn’t planning on ordering. Whatever Hal wanted him for, he doubted it would be anything he wanted to stick around for.

Jughead made it to Ryoga’s quickly, and when he stepped through the doors, the host ushered him to the best table in the house.

“Jughead!” Hal cried jovially. “So glad you came! Sit. Order something. My treat.”

Jughead was not as enthused. He eyed Hal suspiciously as he sat across from the man, looking into his dead green eyes. Whatever warmth Hal was trying to exude, it did not come from a place of sincerity.

“I figured you were by yourself and thought you and I could have a chat.”

Jughead frowned. “And how did you figure that?” He didn’t think anyone was following him and he thought he was pretty good at spotting a tail.

“Oh, I called Chic. He just came out of rehab, did you know? He told me he was with his sisters.”

Jughead refrained from saying that he knew Chic was out of rehab, that he picked up Chic with Betty from the facility, but he had a feeling that the least Hal knew, the better it was for everyone.

“What’s this about, Hal?”

He didn’t have to engage in pleasantries. He was a grown ass man who didn’t get intimidated by men in expensive suits, even if they were his girlfriend’s father.

“Right to the point,” Hal said in mild surprise. “I like that. Let’s get to it, then. This is about Betty and how she’s jettisoning out into space in that rust bucket you call a ship.”

Jughead couldn’t help but grin. “If she heard you insulting the Wyrm like that, she would end you.”

Hal chuckled. “Ah, Betty. Just like her to fall for an old classic like that. She’s always been a pure engineer. She can make anything fly. She’s a genius.”

“I know. It's one of the things that I love about her the most.”

“She is irreplaceable.”

“That’s for sure.”

Hal paused, his pleasant veneer beginning to melt away. “Let me get to the point, Jughead.”

“Please do, already.”

What phony pleasantries Hal began with completely dissipated. Jughead wasn’t even pretending to be friendly so Hal must have realized that his own efforts at being phony were wasted.  

The gloves, as they say, were coming off. Jughead didn’t trust him, and through the years, Jughead had learned to listen to that instinct. There was something very wrong with Hal.

“I built this company from nothing,” said Hal in a pointed tone. “I grew it and made it the number one rocket manufacturer in the quadrant. But what made it take off, what made it what it is today is Betty. She has become the lifeblood of this company. Without her, it is less than what it could be. Without her, it is crippled.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He wasn’t. He knew Hal Cooper made an insane amount of money and he wasn’t about to feel bad that the owner and CEO of a Fortune 500 company would incur millions on speculative losses when they made actual billions in profit.

Hal leaned over the table. “You’re not getting it,” he hissed. “She belongs here, on Earth, by my side, making this company dominant across the galaxy.”

Jughead almost laughed. “Oh, and you've decided that by yourself? What she wants to do with her life? Good fucking luck to you.”

“She wouldn’t exist without me, Jones. She wouldn’t be making rockets without me. You are derailing her priorities and you need to give her back to me. She was mine first.”

That was the most outrageous thing he’d ever heard a father say about a daughter. “You are unbelievable, you know that? And creepy as fuck. Like hell I’m ever going to let her near you again, you goddamn—”

Hal mugged an impressed look. “I get it. I’m a businessman Jones, and I’m not going to lie: she’s a sound investment. Betty comes with an impressive portfolio. She has so much money and assets in her name that unlimited wealth will be well within your reach if you continue to be with her.”

Jughead was getting furious. Her own father called her an investment. She didn’t even seem human to Hal. She was an asset. And how dare Hal insinuate that he was in it for the money? “My being with her has absolutely nothing to do with any of that.”

Hal waved his words away in a dismissive gesture. “I won’t let you leave empty handed, I promise. I will make it worth your while.”

He pulled a slip of paper from his jacket pocket and dropped it across the table for Jughead to see.

Jughead’s morbid curiosity got the better of him and he picked it up to see what it was. It was a check for an amount that he would never, in his entire life, amass at one time.

But each zero Jughead saw, he only got angrier, and mixed with objective disbelief that this was happening in real life, that it wasn’t in fact a soap opera, he wanted badly to reach across the table and punch the smug look from Hal’s face.

“You can’t just buy people off,” Jughead said in a tremulous voice. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Thinking, perhaps, that he had gotten an edge, Hal smirked. “Is this not enough for you, Jughead? I can respect that. One of the first lessons my father taught me is to never accept the first offer. I’ll double it.”

Jughead felt he had reached the zenith of this outrageous conversation.

Deliberately, he hoisted the check in his hands and tore it to pieces right in Hal’s face, then he stood and threw the tattered pieces right across the table. As the confetti of defiance drifted onto Hal’s suit, his red face turned purple with range.

“No thanks,” Jughead turned to leave.

Hal’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ll disown Betty. She will have no stake in the Cooper wealth and assets at all, and she’ll blame it all on you!”

That probably should have given him pause, but he had long learned that Betty didn’t consider her family’s wealth her own, and knowing Alice, she wasn’t going to let that happen to Betty. But that was all beside the point.

“Go fuck yourself, Hal,” Jughead shot back, heading for the door.

“Everyone has a price!” Hal cried after him. “I’ll find yours!”

Jughead patted the pocket of his coat, feeling the small box dig lightly against his chest.

If only Hal knew. Jughead already had everything he needed.

**************************

When Betty got home and found Jughead lounging on the couch, mindlessly watching television, she went to him and sank blissfully against his side.

She closed her eyes, sighing, and let the warmth of his body soothe her. His fingers ran lightly through her hair as he kissed the top of her head and she nestled her face in the hollow of his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, gently. “You okay?”

_No, not really._

It felt good, however, to be with him. To take comfort from him and his steady presence. “I’m okay _now._ I missed you.”

He chuckled. “You mean all seven hours we were apart? I don’t know if that’s healthy, babe.”

She slapped his leg lightly with the back of her hand, a small smile appearing. “Stop. It was a tough visit at Polly’s, okay?”

He pulled her into his side more securely. “I’m sorry. You want to talk about it?”

If only. She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted his counsel. She needed his strength, but Polly’s ask had been simple. Tell no one, and she had to respect that. “I want to. So much, but I can’t. This is Polly’s story and she trusted me not to tell anyone.”

His look of complete affection almost defeated her. “Any way I can help?”

Betty hadn’t quite wrapped her mind around it herself. She needed clarity, and perhaps she just needed to let this be for a few mindless hours.

She started to kiss him, flicking her tongue between his lips. She could feel him smiling against the kiss.

“Oh, is this what you need?” he murmured, already smoothing his hand over her ass.

She couldn’t help but giggle. “Shut up and kiss me.”

He did so with immediate enthusiasm, easily turning her on the couch on her back and settling between the embrace of her legs.

“Tough day for both of us,” he said as he slowly sucked on the delicate skin along her throat. “We totally deserve this.”

Her thoughts were already scattering, leaving behind the day’s detritus and focusing on him and his body, how the weight of him at the apex of her thighs made her wet, how her fingers were dexterously undoing the buttons of his shirt, how that patch of bare skin along his shoulder was so desirably shaped with that hint of definition on him that she loved.

His own fingers were undoing the buttons of her blouse, and his hand grazed the slopes of her breasts.

She smiled, helping him by showing him her front clasp bra and undoing it with a flick of her fingers.

“If these aren’t the most clever things in the universe,” he said, delighted. He dove right in, his hand pushing back the lacy material and trailing his lips along her breast.

She sighed and smiled, running her fingers through the luscious curls on his head. She was just closing her eyes to savor the sensation of his tongue circling her nipple when Cedonia’s voice cut through the pleasurable haze. “Chic’s at the door.”

_What?_

Jughead stopped what he was doing and sighed against her chest.

“Chic is quite insistent,” Cedonia added.

Betty sighed and pushed herself off the couch. “I gotta take this.”

With Chic and his addictions, she felt it was imperative that she respond when she could. She was sure there was some way she should be establishing boundaries, but she had already been unavailable to him the last eight months.

“Of course you should,” Jughead said, sitting back on the couch and running his fingers through his ruffled hair.

Betty scrambled to right her clothing and smooth back her hair. When she was decent, she said, “Let him in Cedonia.”

The door opened and Chic walked right through, storming through the entryway and right to the living room where he took to agitated pacing.

“What are we going to do about this, Betty?” he demanded, cutting right through the pleasantries of _hi, sorry to bother you, but…_

She gauged Jughead’s reaction, which was mostly confusion, before giving Chic a pointed look. “Chic.”

“What? Did you seriously think I was just going to sit back and pretend she didn’t just tell us—“

“ _Chic! Don’t!_ Don’t say it!” She meant it. This wasn’t Chic’s bomb to drop on anyone. “You promised!”

“Fuck that! If this had happened to you, I would react exactly the same way!”

Jughead stood, clearly uncertain about what was happening. Chic was angry, but it was directed at the aether, even if he was looking at Betty. “What’s going on?”

“Didn’t she tell you?” Chic cried. “Polly told us who the father of her kids are!”

Jughead swallowed, still confused at what this outburst was all about.

Betty clenched her fists, pressing them against her cheeks to contain her own frustration--at her inability to staunch Chic’s understandable rage. “Chic, _please._ Polly would be devastated. This is disrespectful to her. Let’s talk about it, you and I. Jughead shouldn’t hear this.”

Like the decent human being he is, Jughead nodded. “I’ll give you guys a couple of hours—“

“No,” Chic growled. “I want _his_ take on this. I want him to tell me that he won’t be this angry if this had happened to _you.”_

“It didn’t! Oh, Chic!”

Chic looked Jughead in the eyes. “If Betty told you that someone raped her and she became pregnant from that, what would you do?”

Immediately, a dark cloud descended on Jughead’s facial expression. Realization, and maybe rage, overcame him for that split second, but then the hardness was replaced by understanding. “Chic. You shouldn’t be telling me this.”

Chic’s resolve didn’t waver. “Tell me what you’d do and I’ll shut up.”

Jughead took a deep, steady breath, closed his eyes, and shook his head. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking at Betty. “That what happened to Polly?”

Betty pursed her lips, and as much as she wanted to hold back her tide of emotions, she felt her eyes filling. She blinked her tears back furiously as she gave a wordless nod.

The look of compassion on Jughead’s face meant everything. His refusal to answer Chic’s question meant the world. This wasn’t about Betty. This wasn’t about him or Chic. This was about Polly, and they shouldn’t be having this conversation.

“Sit down, Chic,” Jughead said, indicating the stools along the kitchen counter.

“You haven’t answered my question—“

_“Sit. Down.”_

Betty looked hopefully at Chic. She was never more thankful of Jughead’s steady presence in the face of her family and their frenetic insanity.

Chic finally did as he was told, and on Jughead’s way to the kitchen, he gave her arm a reassuring squeeze, as if to tell her, _I got this._

Her relief was immense and she took the kitchen stool beside Chic while Jughead bustled in the kitchen, putting some water on to boil and taking some mugs out for them all.

Jughead brought out the container of green tea leaves and set it on the counter with the mugs. He pried the lid off the can and started sprinkling leaves into each mug.

Chic scowled. “Something stronger, Jones?”

One side of Jughead’s lips lifted, shooting Chic a look that implied none of this was negotiable.

Chic sighed and rolled his eyes, surrendering to Jughead’s takeover.

It wasn’t that Betty didn’t understand Chic’s anger or his feelings of helplessness. She was feeling those things, too, and if she paid close enough attention, she could see her insides being frayed piece by piece, but what Chic was doing was unconscionable. _This_ was taking something away from Polly again that she hadn’t freely given, and they couldn’t give it back.

When the kettle started to whistle, Jughead took it off the fire and uncovered the kettle’s lid to lessen the burning heat of the water.

“What would I do,” Jughead began, mildly, as he took a deep breath, “if that had happened to Betty? Jeez, where do I even begin? First, I’ll find the guy who did it, then I’ll beat him to near death with my bare hands, then I’ll drag him out to some plaza by his ankles, string him up a tree, then set him on fire.”

Betty knew that Jughead didn’t relish violence. It was something he did to fulfill a mission and the suffering of others held no appeal to him, but she also knew that when it came to her health and well-being, he had zero tolerance for anyone who dared hurt her, so his calmly stated answer to Chic’s question wasn’t a huge surprise.

“And dad would help,” Jughead added, passing his hand lightly over the mouth of the kettle to check the temperature. He poured the water out into their mugs.

She waited for Chic’s reaction.

Chic paused. “Didn’t think your answer would be that graphic, but yeah, rock on.”

He tilted his gaze at Chic, sliding the mug of tea closer to him. “But if Betty told me not to, I wouldn’t lift a finger. I only get to play white knight if she gives me permission. Understand?”

Chic scoffed. “I can’t just sit by and let that predator—“

“Chic, I’m angry, too,” Betty said. “But even if Polly weren’t afraid of what mom and dad would force her do, or of her kids finding out _how_ they were conceived and being taken away, you don’t—you don’t just go up against a guy like—well, you know—“

“Nick St. Claire,” Chic said without pause or hesitation.

Betty scowled. “Dammit, Chic!”

“He already knows half the truth!” Chic argued, gesturing in Jughead’s direction.

Jughead’s eyes widened. “Wait, _the_ Nick St. Claire? The fuel magnate?”

“The _heir,”_ Betty clarified, sighing. “He’s notorious for sexually assaulting women, but he always gets away with it. _Always.”_

“So nobody knows this happened to her and that Juniper and Dagwood’s father is Nick?”

She shook her head, finally taking up her mug of tea and blowing at it gently. “Nobody, not even the people at the farm, until she told us this afternoon, and only because some reporter is snooping around her and is looking to go after Nick St. Claire for his crimes.”

“A reporter,” Jughead repeated

“Polly needs help fending off this reporter,” Betty finally said. “She doesn’t want to be involved in this in any way. She doesn’t want to tell Penny because Penny will tell our parents, and they’ll—well.” She left it at that and Jughead didn’t seem to care for the details.

Jughead gave a disapproving shake of his head. “The reporter wants her because she’s Polly Cooper. It’s bigger news.”

Betty nodded. That was the awful truth. It wasn’t completely about justice, it was about headlines.

Chic shrugged. “Well, if she does go to this reporter, and she tells her everything, even mom and dad can’t force the St. Claires to pay child support and have joint custody. The media storm won’t let them.”

Jughead scowled. “Have you lost your mind?”

Betty noted, amused, that her cowboy had sounded impatient. She didn’t blame him. Chic wasn’t thinking. “Chic, it’s never that easy. When it comes to sexual assault or harassment, women carry the blame _all the time._ Our skirt was too short, our collar too low, we were drinking, we were easy, we were stupid... Polly will get dragged, and if she goes up against Nick St. Claire, she may never recover from it.  Dad may even disown her just so she isn’t associated with the company.”

Jughead made a soft sound, but he didn’t say anything to refute her words. They fell into a brief silence, sipping their tea. Even Chic seemed to be taking comfort in its warmth.  

“Anyway, we shouldn’t be talking about her without her here,” Betty finally said, exchanging looks with Jughead.

He got the message. “Betty’s right. We need to step back from this. _You_ need to step back from this. If you want to help Polly, give it a couple of days--”

“You’ll be gone in a few days,” Chic said, a hint of melancholy in his tone. “Who else am I going to turn to when you’re flying back in space?”

“I’m only one comm away, Chic.” Sometimes she wondered if she wasn’t being selfish, flying off in space and leaving her siblings behind. Maybe a little bit, but when have her siblings, her _older_ siblings, ever listened to her?  They went about their way, turning to her for assistance when it pleased them.

They never abused her. They were never ever cruel and they loved her the way older siblings cared for the youngest, but she wasn’t their font of wisdom.

“And just how are you going to help all the way out in space?” Chic asked, looking truly distressed.

“We’ll have something before we leave,” Jughead said, to Betty’s surprise. “And while we’re working this out, you’ll sit tight and not do a thing. Don’t you go to the reporter yourself--”

Chic rolled his eyes. “I won’t do _that._ Don’t worry.”

Jughead nodded.

Betty sighed, reaching for Chic’s hand. “Do you want to stay here the night? Or I can catch a Dryft with you back to Polly.”

“I’ll go back to Polly by myself. I swear, I won’t call my dealer between here and there.”

She was afraid the temptation would be too much. “Stay here, Chic. And call your sponsor. We’ll drop you off at Polly’s in the morning. Do it for me.”

“Well, if it’s for you,” Chic chuckled, looking away.

He was looking away because he knew she was right.

Chic grinned. “Do I get to stay in your room?”

She grinned back. “You get the couch. And don’t even think about sneaking out. Cedonia will tell me and Jug and I will find you. It’s what we do--find fugitives.”

Jughead smirked.

“Now, we’re ordering takeout for dinner. Any requests?”

“Caviar over brie and a bottle of champagne?”

“Pizza it is.”

****************

 

Polly’s situation put a slight dent in Jughead’s plans of asking Betty to marry him.

He wasn’t, as of yet, terribly fussed. They had time.

He wanted to make a proper proposal, with her decked in a pretty dress and him in a dapper suit. And while he knew it didn’t have to be elaborate, he wanted Betty to feel as special as he thought she was.  

If they had to leave Earth, space would still be a great place to propose, flying across the stars, and sitting in the Hitchcock amidst a field of nebulae and heavenly bodies. She loved space even more than she liked fancy dinners and dresses.

He hadn’t brought up the things Hal had said to him. He hadn’t told her that her father offered him an insane amount of money to leave her. It was so preposterous and stupid that he didn’t even know how to broach it. _Hey, your father tried to pay me to break up with you so that you’d go back to working for him. I told him to fuck off. Don’t you think I’m awesome?_

It felt self-congratulatory. It may come across as something he could point to and say, “This is what I did for you.” It wasn’t. It was something Hal said that Jughead would forever want to punch him in the face for, and there was no way in hell that he was going to deliver the news that her father had quantified her value in money.

It wasn’t as if she was blind to her father’s manipulations, anyway. She knew that removing herself from Hal’s presence was for her own good. He didn’t have to dig it in. She had little to no desire to be subjected to Hal and when they left for space, it only served to take her even farther away from him.

In the meantime, they were working on Earth to solve for Polly’s reporter problem.  

With Polly’s permission, they secured Jellybean’s help and her network of hackers.  Jellybean kept the secret of Polly’s story to herself, her online cohorts knowing nothing about Polly’s part in their quest to unravel the St. Claires.

Hackers were fast workers, and at the end of two days, the data they amassed on the St. Claires’s many transactions, some of them shady, was astonishing, but none were so damning as Nick’s _many_ videotaped predatory endeavors.

Of course, many of them weren’t meant to be recorded, but the digital age offered a window into everyone’s lives. As steadfast as Cedonia was in obeying the law, she was still just a machine. A program. Just one firewall away from being breached, with all of its recorded data, by someone like Jellybean Jones.

Whatever Jellybean gathered would never be admissible in legal court, but the court of public opinion would damn Nick and probably his family. With the identities of the women protected, an untraceable data-dump trickled into the reporter’s folder.

It would take time for the reporter to confirm her sources, but for now, the calls and emails to Polly stopped, hopefully forever. Only time would tell whether their diversionary tactics worked.

He and Betty had one last night on Earth and Jughead wanted to make the most of it.

 

***********************

Jughead had dinner reservations at Veronica’s restaurant, which he was sure Betty would enjoy. He didn’t often gravitate to haute cuisine. He like heartier meals, comforting and filling, even in a nice setting, but he wanted the date to feel special. He wanted Betty to feel that energy.

And then after dinner, he would suggest a lovely walk through Central Park. Betty would like that, too, especially after he reminds her that the walkways were in full bloom. She adored fresh flowers, and he’d tell her that it would be his way of making up for all of those times he couldn’t get fresh flowers for her in space.

Finally, he would ask her, on a whim, to go into the Hayden Planetarium. She’d love that best of all, because Betty was just the type of person who enjoyed space whether she _was_ in space or planted firmly on earth.

At the planetarium, he would get on one knee and propose amidst the backdrop of the universe.

He was nervous as hell, but he could only be hopeful. He loved her and he had to believe that she loved him enough to say yes.  

But the morning of that day he was to propose, at 5AM sharp, he was awakened by a call from Major Weatherbee.

Bleary eyed and only half awake, Jughead heard his superior officer’s clipped and efficient voice. “Pilot. You are being called back to duty.”

Sleep left him in an instant, a wave of devastation flooding him and jolting him away from the happiness that had seemed so close at hand moments before. “Yes, sir.”

“Be at the base at 0900 hours, where you will be briefed for a top secret mission.”

He paused to swallow the disappointment that was choking him.  “I’ll be there, sir.”

The call ended, and Jughead sat quietly at the edge of the bed for several minutes. Behind him lay Betty, snuggled in the sheets, still. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful, that he almost didn’t want to wake her.

But as was always the case when the ESDC called to send him off, he had to say his goodbyes. One never knew.

He woke her, gently, rubbing the skin of her bare arm and letting the warmth back into his skin. His bare feet touched hers under the sheets. Their body warmth mingled as they drew closer.

Her eyes fluttered open, her smile of contentment making him yearn to stay. He tried to smile back, but perhaps there were too many unsaid things in his eyes, because she noticed immediately that not all was right with the world.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

He cupped her face, rubbing the apple of her cheek with his thumb. “I’m being called back to duty.”

Her eyes flew open and she pushed herself up. Her nakedness did nothing to soften the gravity of his words. “What? What do you mean you’re being called back to duty?”

He sat up to meet her gaze. “My Major called. He told me to report to base at 9. I’m being sent on a mission.”

She blinked, shaking her head to clear the cobweb of dreams she was still struggling to get out of. “A mission. A mission where?”

“I don’t know. And even if I did, I can’t tell you.”

She looked lost, grasping for thoughts that made her the sharp, brilliant scientist that she was.  “Well, how long are you going to be gone?”

He shook his head, almost apologetically. He wished he could tell her more. “I don’t know that, either. It could be weeks. Maybe more. After I’m briefed, I may or may not have a chance to call you.”

She bit her lip and her eyes began to go liquid. It was too much for him. He couldn’t bear to see her cry.

He held her by her shoulders. “Don’t, baby.”

“Well, are you going to be okay?” she cried, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand. “How dangerous are these missions?”

Pursing his lips, he tried to find the words. How was he going to tell her that these missions were always dangerous? How could he tell her that he may be perfectly alright when this was done, but that there was as much of a chance that this was the last time she would see him alive? One never knew.  

Was there enough time to tell her that he had so many plans, still. With her, but that had to be put on pause for now?  

“I love you,” he said.

That only served to make her eyes fill even more.

“I’ll come back,” he continued.  He didn’t know if that was true, but the likelihood was high. He had his training. He had experience. Based on all that, he was going to be alright.  “I’m good at this. I know because I’m here. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

She nodded and did muster a watery smile. “I know. I know you will be.”

It struck him, then, that if he survived this mission, this could very well be their lives the next couple of years.  He would leave for weeks, even months at a time, then come home, have a few days or weeks with Betty, and then he would get called back again. At each goodbye, she would either get used to it or grow to resent the heartbreak. It was a future they hadn’t had to think about until now.

Dread twisted in his gut. “Betty, I know you didn’t sign up for this--”

“Shut up,” she hissed, looking up at him and pressing her hand over the dogtags and the homing ring resting against his chest. “I’ll wait for you. Every time, I’ll wait. Okay?  I’ll be at the Wyrm, making that rustbucket fly, building my engine as we go, and you’ll come back to me every time. Do you hear me?”

He could only stare at her gratefully, love her harder if that were possible, and believe in her. Believe in them.

 

*******************

 

He realized that this would be the first time he’d be going on a mission where he had family to leave behind.  

In all his years at the Def Cor, he hadn’t had his father or sister to come home to. He hadn’t had Betty. In the past, his motivation was to get back to his squadron in one piece with every member of his flight accounted for.  

Now it was different. Now he had to get back to _them_ , because his father needed him, because his sister might actually miss him, and because Betty was everything.

She was everything and he was going to marry her.

This was what he needed to come back to.  

A quick call to FP and Jellybean had them coming over to Betty’s apartment at seven in the morning to give him a proper goodbye.

The way his father enfolded him in his embrace, Jughead had never been held so hard, and when FP grabbed him by the collar of his uniform, looking him in the eyes, his father said, “You’re coming back to us in one piece, boy. So help me.”

Jughead’s answering smirk seemed to assure FP that he knew what he was doing.  

Jellybean stepped in front of him. She didn’t hug him and she looked like she didn’t want to be touched, so Jughead made no motion to close in. Besides, she looked mildly furious, her lips pursed with disapproval. “I disagree with this war.”

“I’m not going to war. It’s just a mission, JB.”

She pointed a finger right at his face. “Listen. It matters not how strait the gate.”

He frowned, unsure about what she was telling him.

She swallowed and went on. “How charged with punishments the scroll. You are the master of your fate.”

It came to him then and he knew how to finish the poem. “I am the captain of my soul.”

“Invictus,” Jellybean said. “Remember the words. Recite them when you’re in trouble. Promise me you will.”

He nodded.

She scowled. “Promise me, motherfucker.”

“I promise.”

When he said his final goodbye to Betty, it was a prolonged moment of memorizing _her._ The scent of her hair and skin, the feel of her body close to his, and the warmth of her breath on his neck. When he kissed her, he had that split second urge to just take her by the hand and run away--far away, where no one can find them.  

But the moment passed, and he was leaving, watching them grow smaller, fainter, until they were gone from his view.

 

********************

 

Four weeks.

He’d been gone four weeks.  

It was a mercy that Betty was able to keep herself busy enough to make the days go by faster.  It was a godsend that the 4th quadrant deliveries kept her occupied, that there were easy bounties to be had that she could go with FP on, and that her engine kept her mind on constant stimuli.

The Joneses were smart. They knew not to go for the difficult bounties. They knew they didn’t have their pilot who can handle the fancy flying moves. They kept their bounties and deliveries low key. They erred on the side of caution. They were one man down and there was no necessity as of yet to be aggressive.

During sleeping hours, when the ship was quiet and her room felt drab and lonely, she would bring a pillow and blanket to her loft and watch the stars and planets drift by until she fell asleep.

The dreams of him had started at day 4 and she’d been hoping to wake up to the sight of his face ever since.  

She missed him.  She missed being with him and holding him. She missed their conversations and their quiet moments. She missed his voice and his laugh. She missed him like a body would, trying to break the surface of water for air.  

She missed being able to think of other things, too. To not be consumed with worry and longing.

“No news is good news,” FP had told her and she’d been repeating that like a mantra.

If he was going to be gone for longer, she had to learn how to just let these things go, or else she would never get anything done.

She took pride in keeping the Wyrm flying and the crafts in top condition. She relished her conversations with Veronica on the comm and the few exchanges she’d had with Chic and Polly.

She kept herself busy because she was a grown woman who had actual responsibilities and could exist without Jughead for extended periods of time.

Betty was fine and Jughead would be home soon.  

It was while she was hunched over her work table, soldering an upgrade to her drones, when the engine room door opened and she saw FP standing at the threshold.

His ashen face and puffy red eyes filled her with immediate despair.  “I just got off the comm with the ESDC…”

 _“No,”_ she said, dropping everything and getting to her feet. “No, FP.”

“Betty,” he said in a choked whisper.

She started to cry.  “Tell me. Just tell me.”

“He’s missing, Betty. He’s been missing for three days. They don’t know if he’s dead, but they told me it’s not likely he’s alive.”

She had never felt such crippling grief in her life. It felt like she couldn’t breathe, but it wasn’t because she was dying, it was because her sobs were coming in swelling waves. She had to blink through her tears and force her body not to rage and scream.

“What did they tell you, exactly?” she demanded.

FP’s own eyes were filling. “The mission didn’t go as planned. They wouldn’t give me any details about what the mission was, but they told me the ship Jughead was flying got shot down.  Him and half a dozen other men crashed into enemy territory. They were unable to establish contact with him or any of his crew. A few hours after the crash, they couldn’t wait any longer. They left him, Betty. They _left my boy.”_

“Where?” she demanded. “Where did they leave him?”

FP shook his head. “They wouldn’t tell me. They wouldn’t tell me anymore than that.”

Unacceptable.

“They’re sending his things back through hyperspace tomorrow.”

She shook her head. The hell they were.

She needed answers and the ESDC wasn’t going to give them to her directly if they didn’t deem his own father entitled to that information.

She stormed out of the engine room and went straight to the bridge, hailing Veronica who immediately knew something was wrong.

“Veronica,” Betty said, fighting to keep the tremble from her voice. “Tell Kevin I need to speak to Moose and I need to speak to him _now.”_

She told herself, over and over again: If there wasn’t a body, he wasn’t dead.

If they didn’t know what happened to him, then he could very well still be alive.

If there was a trail, she would find it and she would follow it.

She was going to find Jughead and she wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stop her.  


End file.
